Paradigm Shift
by TheRedDragoon
Summary: Only infant dragons were immune to the call of an alpha, it was basic dragon knowledge. Too bad an undersized Night Fury was the exception to this rule. The real kicker: said Night Fury wasn't a dragon yesterday. Hiccup, just what did you get yourself into this time? Deviates at the start of the first movie.
1. Author Notes

**Paradigm Shift**

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Author Notes

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If you want to jump right into the story hit that next button right now. If, on the other hand, you are curious about extra information, disclaimers, etc., stay right here on this page.

-Background-

It's rare in works, especially in animation that the sequel has any of the power that the original possesses. Well, HTTYD is one of those special cases where the second entity has just as much oomph as the first. The movie has some problems with pacing, but has a brilliant portrayal of progress that most sequels lack. It doesn't feel like filler and, in today's greedy society, that is a rarity in and of itself.

Because of this, I decided to push this story forward. The basic premise of this story is extremely simple: it's a transformation story. I have a guilty pleasure when it comes to these stories and wanted to try my hand at one. However, I do not know how to plan a short story and thus, this one ended up being somewhat of a monster. It also, even though it starts at the beginning of HTTYD 1, follows the characters and plot of the second much more so. But, it also takes its time getting there.

And of good note: I have never read any of the books or watched any of the TV show. Everything I know about this series comes from the two movies and quick searches on the wiki page. So if something is erroneous, please let me know.

-Writing-

Unlike, with LAST (Lightning Always Strikes Twice) I will be writing this story in third person, which will hopefully make it calmer and more enjoyable. I personally loath stories written in first person, but wanted to try my hand at it in LAST.

However, I have many stories I am planning on writing and I am not sure if this will be my next focus after LAST, but with the popularity of HTTYD at the moment, I thought I would throw the idea out there to see if it sticks.

Finally, I write with no beta and have a somewhat clunky style that I am trying to smooth out. Because of this, I would greatly appreciate any reviews or comments you have about the story – they're so vivid in my mind that critical details are sometimes lost in the transition. Also, I do not obsess over rewrites and edits (I am doing this for free after all) and, therefore, there are bound to be errors. If you see one, or a dozen, please send me a pm and let me know where they are so I can correct them.

-Release Rate-

I'm not sure how fast I will release chapters for this story. Do not be surprised to see a more accelerated pace initially as I give the story a decent base to work off of. In the past, I have been a fan of releasing at a weekly pace. If this story becomes my next focus, weekly updates are a good guess.

-Picture-

The story image is a cropped and modified image from work done by skia on deviant art. To see the original work please use: skia . deviantart art / Young-Night-Fury-159298639 If you get the time you should definitely check out their work.

-Disclaimer-

I own nothing of How To Train Your Dragon or any of the associated rights. This work was done for enjoyment purposes only with no monetary value obtained in anyway. If anyone wished to use the ideas, including original characters or quotes, here within they are legally allowed to; no copyrights or protection exist for this story. Although, this author would greatly appreciate a nod if his ideas are used elsewhere.


	2. The Offspring of Lightning and Death

**Paradigm Shift**

Chapter 1: The Offspring of Lightning and Death

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Ravens Point was beautiful by Viking standards: thick, ambiguous, suffocating fog; sharp, eviscerating rocks; spiny, mace-like flowers; creatures with bone-crushing teeth and that was only the nice part. It was a rapturous slice of Viking paradise.

Near the thickest part, a young man stood and played with something in his hand. Not with the feverish excitement a child would but with contemplative disinterest as he fed it repetitively through his fingers.

The curiosity was a small rope. However, instead of the powerful syntheses of twine, the rope was split apart as if something sharp had cut through it with extreme prejudice.

Hiccup, the teenage, blond-haired, green-eyed Viking sighed.

He was so sure that this would be the day: the day where the village would no longer hate him for being weak, the day when he could walk outside and hold his head high.

Because this was the day, he would prove that he accomplished the impossible. Not only would he be the first Viking to ever see a Night Fury, he would also be the only Viking to kill one.

The honor it would bestow made Hiccup salivate at the mouth and giggle like a young girl.

After all, in Berk, killing a dragon was everything. It would no longer matter that he was a frail, undersized worm of a Viking. No, he would be Hiccup, the slayer of night itself.

Hell, he might even get a date.

But there was one tiny problem. The previous night, when the dragons attacked Berk, Hiccup had used his bola launcher to entangle the Night Fury and watched the dark shape fall down near Ravens Point. And that's why Hiccup had trudged out today, stumbling through the forest in a delirious haze with excitement and curiosity dancing through his eyes.

He had found the bola. That was no problem: the row of downed, crumpled trees was a dead give away. Unfortunately, there was no squirming, black dragon in its captive embrace, just strands of shredded rope everywhere: the trees, the rocks, and the ground all contained various stringy pieces.

With one more sigh, this time sounding a bit like a groan, Hiccup stood up and prepared to head back to Berk.

A loud blast of sound roared overhead like a crack of thunder and Hiccup instinctively crouched down. His eyes careened, narrowed and alert, as he searched for the source. But the trees were quiet, and there were no black, nefarious clouds above– the sky was a mystifying, crystalline blue. The only disturbance to the serenity was the melodic trickling of a nearby creek.

A disturbed chuckle made is way out of Hiccup's mouth as the adolescent Viking stood up and dusted his pants off. "Just what I need, something else to go wrong," the young man mumbled under his breath.

Nature answered with a scratching, tearing sound, far too loud to be some little critter.

Nervously yelping, Hiccup jumped back as if his foot had been burned.

But, just as quickly as it appeared, the sound ominously disappeared like a monster stalking its prey. Other than the trickling stream, the road was quiet once more.

Hiccup's gaze turned toward the left, just off the road, where the sound had originated. A green and brown spectacle of twisted twigs, branches, and roots were all that meet his meticulous stare.

The crunch of dried leafs and soft dirt beneath his boots arose as he took precautionary steps forward.

Hiccup stopped in front of a bush. It was dense enough that, even with his proximity, he could not see anything through its foliage. Leaning around, he tried to get a better view beyond.

Suddenly, a blocky, grayish brown rock, which was supporting his right foot, plopped out of position and rolled down a hidden slope.

Thrown off-balance, in part due to his already precarious position, Hiccup let out a small shout of surprise and flailed his arms as he tried to find some semblance of balance. Unable to do so, he fell down into the vegetation. An unusual array of leaves, loose soil and small rock softened his landing, but this multicolored concoction was unstable and started its own descent down the slope dragging Hiccup with it. There was just enough room, under the low canopy like some claustrophobic tunnel, for the scrawny human to fit unobtrusively.

With a sense of panic, Hiccup tried to kick something to slow and stop his decent, but his feet merely pushed the loose dirt and pebbles downward instead of himself upward. A small cloud of dust formed, and Hiccup reflexively pulled an arm to his mouth to quell an incoming sneeze. He slid further down.

It wasn't until his boots came to a sloping splash that Hiccup found his movement arrested. He tried to stand, only for his feet to lose purchase and fall face first into the liquid at the bottom of the small ravine with a startled and frustrated shout.

A coppery taste entered his mouth and the small Viking quickly retracted his head from its watery hold. He quickly shook his head back and forth like a waterlogged dog causing small droplets and soaked leaves to fly every which way.

Taking a calming breath, Hiccup glanced down at the water he was resting in. Small streams of red and brown marred the murky surface as if they were invading the premises. His eyes followed the alarmingly large trails of red until they reached the corpse of something with short, white fur.

It was right then that Hiccup remembered he had a nose.

"Well, that's just convenient," he sarcastically said as he slapped the water with one hand and pinched his nose with the other until it hurt. The smell was absolutely abhorrent.

Looking around, he noticed he was in a small ravine that snaked its way through the incredibly thick vegetation that blocked not only the surroundings but also the sun and sky above.

Hiccup forced his irritated knees, which were burning all over due to the fall – a throbbing sensation that made him wince – to straighten out and allow him to stand.

His leg muscles let their displeasure known as little, sharp pricks of pain accompanied the complaints of his knees. Hiccup ignored them and lifted a foot, the water dripping off like little waterfalls.

It was then that fate would make itself apparent, but not with a goddess or a tranquil sign of peace, but instead with a brutal, vociferous boom that shook the leaves off of their branches and disturbed the calm water with large ripples.

But before his brain could even analysis the sound, everything went black. Hiccup's body crinkled down as if he just took a blow to the head and came to rest in the middle of the creek. The water slowly rose against his prone form as it attempted to find a new way past the obstacle in its path.

For only a few minutes did Hiccup stay in his limbo-like state, but once everything came back, he could have sworn he collapsed only moments before. His head ached with a throbbing pulse that was worse than the time Snotlout hit him in the head with a rock and his ears were ringing like someone had shouted directly into them for an hour.

With a spine-curling shiver, he noticed his prone position. Confused, Hiccup went to stand, but pain attacked his body like an army of spiders and snakes causing momentary paralysis. Even as the sensation soothed, it still felt as if his body was being cooked over an open fire.

"What in the name of Valhalla just happened?" Hiccup gasped out like a landlocked fish sputtering for water.

It took a few tries for the Viking to get to his feet. And when he did, he almost fell over, but his wavering arms found the black trunk of a tree to steady himself. A piece of bark broke off and he almost went floundering to the ground. Examining the strange, pitch-black tree truck, Hiccup used his hands to chip more bark off – it came loose like dirt in a landslide.

Confused, Hiccup turned his gaze to his surroundings. In a circle, approximately as wide as he was tall, everything from rocks to leaves was blackened as if burned. The phenomenon was like nothing the young Viking had ever seen before. The rest of the area was fine, but right in that circle it was like the apocalypse had come early.

Hiccup ran his hands through his hair, which was standing up strangely. He tried to force it down, but it was a battle he was unable to win – the hair was not listening.

A sudden pain racked his back and Hiccup fell to his knees, his mouth open in shock. Some bile accompanied his gasp of pain and lightly flowed out of his mouth and down his chin.

How long it took Hiccup to get out of that ravine, he couldn't tell. It was an arduous journey that took far too long. Small bursts of pain kept locking his muscles and causing him to slide back down. Eventually, he managed to make it out and collapsed on the hard, solidified dirt trail like a dead man. Thankfully, his heaving chest was a point to the contrary.

The fiery orb in the sky twinkled and continued its progression.

With shaky breath, leather boots forced the young man to his feet. Legs quivering like leaves in the wind, Hiccup managed to come to a stand. His left arm was resting on his chest and his eyes scrunched up in wavy lines.

He took one meticulously step back toward Berk. Then another. His veins felt like they were liquid fire. Another step.

Only a few thousand to go.

Then, just as suddenly as the pain came, it passed. Not completely, the twinges of it were still present like little bug bites all over, but the sharpness, as if something were cutting into flesh, was gone.

Hiccup wasted no time. The throbbing in his legs was easily bearable when compared to the earlier sensations. His smooth and light gait quickly turned faster and soon morphed into a gentle jog. Greens and browns shuffled through Hiccup's view as he fled down the path. He didn't fear tripping, nor did he fear the physical exertion, nor attack from wild animal.

He feared the pain would come back.

It wasn't an irrational fear. In his limbs, he could feel its presence, like venom in his blood, biding its time, waiting for the perfect moment to strike and render him helpless, hopeless.

Hiking through the forest went smoother than Hiccup could have ever hoped for. Berk was constructed on a cliff side and was as vertically inclined as it was horizontal. Traversing the narrow and perilous paths into Berk was mostly trivial, if harrowing. Thankfully, his decent into Berk went without crisis. Hiccup was dreadfully worried about getting vertigo or collapsing while on the wooden bridges and ramps used to cross the hazardous terrain but found his concerns unjustified.

No one in the village bothered him - instead they were rushing around in a frenzy trying to fix some of the damage the previous nights raid had caused. Small bits and pieces of everything were, well, everywhere: the legs of a chair on a roof; a door crushed by a rock; a bed in a tower. Any other time, it would have been slightly amusing. Now, though, Hiccup didn't even notice. Instead, he limped home with his hand on his stomach and his eyes closed as often as possible.

Right when he opened the front door to his house, Hiccup entertained the idea that maybe the worst was over.

That was a bad idea.

The pain came back with the ferociousness and aggressiveness of a hurricane and tore through his body with relentless assault. Hiccup whined in pain and forced his weakened, wobbling legs to make the last dozen steps through the house. It was like trying to move with noodles for legs. Every step Hiccup was sure they would crumple and he would tumble to the floor.

If he fell, he was not getting up again.

Luckily, it was only a few more steps and Hiccup reached his destination: his room. With a large gasp of relief, Hiccup collapsed onto the bed. Small clouds of paper and dust exploded into the air and calmly drifted back down.

Hiccup didn't care that it was midday. He didn't care that he should be working with Gobber. All he wanted was sleep. His back was killing him, his hands and feet were killing him and his butt was killing him. Heck, even his head felt like it was melting off – in fact, his jaw was aching so bad he kept instinctively rubbing it.

Hiccup felt his eyes close as he fell into a slumber.

_When his eyes fluttered open, the brown wood of his walls did not meet his gaze, nor did the white, wool sheets. All of that was gone. In fact, the house was gone, Berk was gone and the entire island was gone. Even the ocean was gone. Instead, as far as he could see, there was a white substance like snow blanketing everything._

_Baffled, the young man stood up without a single complaint from his legs. There was no pain in his neck, his arms, his mouth; there was no pain anywhere. He felt so great, Hiccup wondered if he simply imagined the pain._

_"You're lost, young man," a croaking, inhuman voice said beyond him._

_Quicker than the strike of a snake, Hiccup turned around. Nothing could have ever prepared him for the sight that met his eyes._

_At first, the only thing that he could see was the horse: a colossal horse that easily dwarfed him with an absolutely perfect sparkling gray coat. But, after a quick blink, Hiccup realized one problem with the steed; the beast had an additional set of legs for a grand total of eight. And if that wasn't strange enough, there was also a black feathered, large bird perched on its back. The bird had startling gray eyes that were so clear they appeared as if they could see into your very soul. And if that wasn't otherworldly enough, the figure's outlines were hazy, wavering and shimmering like a mirage on a hot summer day._

_The horse nickered angrily._

_"Don't worry about Sleipnir, he's just antsy," the bird said with a light wave of its wing._

_Hiccup stared at the winged creature for a long time. Finally, he said, "I'm dead, aren't I?"_

_The bird let out a throaty series of croaking noises that sounded more like irritating caws than any type of laugh._

_"Dreaming then?" the boy tried._

_Gray eyes twinkled in amusement and the raven stated, "Something like that."_

_Before Hiccup could ask any more questions, the bird spoke once again, "You see that?" It used a wing to gesture straight up._

_Blinking, the young Viking turned his gaze skyward. A whirlwind of blacks and purples ominously swirled and twisted like some god was stirring the sky with a giant rod. Flashes of light hid behind the evil-looking sky and rumbles of thunder shook the soft creamy ground under Hiccup's feet. It didn't look like a cloud – it looked as if the entire sky was collapsing down in a slow, inevitable catastrophe._

_"The powers to be call that the fury of nights," the raven said. "If you see it a second time, you should fly and never look back."_

_Hiccup rolled his eyes and looked at what he figured was a figment of his imagination._

_"Sure, I'll just flap my 'wings' and soar like a bird," he told the annoying critter as he flapped his own arms._

_Those skin-crawling caws cut into the air as the bird threw its beak back and chortled away. After it had settled down, it looked at Hiccup and said, "Oh, I think you'll find it far easier than that, but enough talk. It is time for you to leave this place. Pray that we never meet again."_

_Lightning broke through the blanket above and struck the ground. But Hiccup's eyes focused on the swirly sky as it latched onto the lightning and twirled downward like it was liquid draining into a hole. The black mass touched the ground and exploded in a great ball of white light that blinded all._

The crash of the front door roused Hiccup from his slumber. With a yelp, the sprawling young man rolled over and fell to the ground with a loud thud.

Try as he might, he couldn't remember his dream. There was something with a horse and a sky but even those recollections were shifting through his mind like water through his fingers.

Groaning, Hiccup forced himself to stand.

Apparently, whatever had infected him – some kind of disease or something – was recessive again. In fact, it was actually better than before. Instead of throbbing, his entire body was itchy. Some parts, such as his nose and shoulder blades, more so than others.

But all the things considered he felt fantastic.

A quick glance out the window showed that he had slept for only a few hours. The brightness from the sun still resonated and embraced all within her loving gaze. It caused the roofs to twinkle, the grass to shine, and the ocean to wink as the light reflected off the cresting waves.

Thinking the worst was over, Hiccup slouched down the small staircase to see who was home. The young Viking just hoped it wasn't Stoick ready to chastise him for ditching work.

It took only a second for Hiccups hopes to get crushed. The man who entered the house – a rough, slightly dilapidated building that obviously missed a mother's touch and contained far too many dragon trophies and war paraphernalia – was none other than Stoick the Vast.

As his name described, Stoick, Hiccup's father, was a large man. His broad, muscular shoulders, massive triceps, and enormous biceps caused him to stand over almost every Viking. But it was his disposition that carried his real weight. He held himself as a leader: unwavering, confident, strong. There was no doubt in anyone's mind that he was the chief. His large brown fur cape, spiky helm and bushy mane of a beard only accented the image.

Stoick, as gaze hogging as he were, was not the only person to enter the house.

Another Viking, smaller overall than Stoick, but seemingly more balanced, accompanied him. On his head was a helm with large spikes that had much higher curvature than normal. He also tended to wear displeased scowls on his face ninety percent of the time, which, with his stubby beard and mustache, made him seem serious all the time.

The man was known as Spitelout Jorgenson, the second in command.

Hiccup sighed loudly and Spitelout threw a slicing glare at him. A glare that, only a second later, morphed into a gaze of surprise.

Stoick, seeing the look on his companion's face quickly turned, cloak fluttering, to check the source of his confusion.

"Hiccup!" Stoick said and rushed forward just in time to catch the young Viking as he collapsed.

The pain hadn't returned, but everything was beginning to slow down for Hiccup. He tried to move his limbs, but it was as if he were trudging through sand, everything was heavy and unresponsive.

"He's extremely pale, Stoick," Spitelout said as he approached in calm stride.

"What could've happened?" Stoick said in a quiet panic – his voice seemed more lost and confused than a wolf at sea.

"Normally, I would say let him fight it off. Better that the strong survive. But," Spitelout said and pointed at Hiccup, "his fingernails have fallen off, his eyes are cloudy, blood is dripping out of his ears, and his hair is falling off in chunks." Spitelout rested his hand on Hiccups forehead. "No fever."

Stoick roared, "What in the blazes does that mean?"

"Do I look like a healer to you, Stoick?" Spitelout said and threw a glare of pure repulsion at the large chief. "I have no bloody clue what this is."

Hiccup paid the men little heed as his eyelids started to droop.

A tremendous cracking sound ripped through the house, bouncing off the walls in a strange and disturbing echo. Hiccup tried to scream as searing pain built up on the back of his shoulder blades as if someone were branding him with red-hot iron. But before he could get the sound out of his mouth, the oblivion of darkness took him once again.

It took only a dozen minutes for Hiccups conscience to wander back into the land of the living. When it did, Hiccup kept his eyes tight closed as his body shook off its lethargic hangover. The pain, the itching, all of it was gone and replaced by soreness throughout his body. Yet even with all that, he still felt strange in ways that he would have a hard time describing.

"Well, we know what was wrong now." Spitelout's voice reverberated in Hiccups skull, pounding on the walls like a drum.

Stoick's voice was no better – in fact, it was worse, "This is not funny, Spitelout."

"I'm not laughing, it was disturbing how fast it changed," Spitelout said with a steady voice. After a second of silence, where only the frenzied huffing of Stoick could be heard, he added, "So what do we do with it?"

Hiccup couldn't help but wonder why they were shouting. And man, when was the last time they took a bath. He knew Vikings cared little for hygiene, but those two smelt like a terrible combination of sweet, blood, iron and seawater. It was disgusting.

"Do you think Hiccup is still in there?" Stoick asked with a slight shake in his voice.

This time, when Spitelout spoke, there was an edge to his voice, as if something were trying to break out, "Well, it is tiny."

"Spitelout," Stoick growled.

Hiccup had enough; he opened his eyes and glanced up at the Vikings. They were blurry and hard to see but seemed to be standing directly over him.

"What are you guys talking about?" Hiccup asked. His raspy voice surprised him – the illness must have taken more out of him then he thought.

The two blurred shapes jerked back as if they smelt something reprehensible.

"It can talk?" Spitelout said with shock.

Stoick spoke at the same time, making Spitelout's words difficult to discern, "Impossible."

The air in the room came to a haunting stop as Hiccup's vision slowly cleared from blurred shapes to clear-cut humanoids.

"Hiccup?" Stoick asked with taut muscles like he was a cat getting ready to pounce.

Hiccup groaned and tried to rub his head. His hands felt strange like something was attached to the ends of his fingers, and for some reason he couldn't feel his thumb. His eyes turned their gaze toward his father's eyes and he saw something unexpected.

Stoick's eyes were burning like dragon fire – fury waged war.

"Yeah?" Hiccup asked carefully as he tentatively peered up at his father.

Stoick's eyebrows shot up and his eyes widened considerably. A murmur came from his mouth, "no, no, no." His mouth remained open and his lips quivered.

Hiccup tilted his head slightly to one side. "Why are you looking at me like I grew wings or something?"

It was then that Hiccup felt them. Something was on his back. Something large. His head turned back to study them with a concerned expression. Something leathery. Something Black. Something like wings. Something exactly like dragon wings.

And the scariest part? Hiccup could feel them like they had always been apart of him. He didn't even need to think hard to move them. They just reacted when he wanted them to just like his arm used to.

His arm!

Hiccups gaze shot to his arm and instead of a pink fleshy rod, a black, scaled appendage with razor-sharp claws met his inquiry.

With a terrified look at his father, who was watching with a little shake of his head, Hiccup flung his two front legs in front of him and waved them at his father like he was trying to ward him off. Too bad, that when he did so, his chin came crashing down on the ground because there was nothing to hold his body up.

"What is going on," Hiccup furiously muttered from the ground and hoisted himself to a sitting position.

Stoick threw a glare that would scare death itself at Hiccup.

But Hiccup wasn't watching his father; instead, he had turned his gaze to consider his own body. He was some black-scaled dragon. He had four legs and two massive, leathery wings that sprawled out on either side of him.

A small pitcher of water showed his face: short with a stubby nose at the end of his muzzle. Two floppy ears rested on his head and large, luminous, green eyes stared back curiously.

His gaze drifted to his tail where two small fins rested at the ends of them fanned out. Experimentally, Hiccup tried to move them. They twitched in response.

Altogether, he was probably about as long as Stoick was tall including the tail. The wingspan was actually larger than that and would dwarf any Viking. Still, his size was small when compared to most dragons.

He had never seen a dragon that looked like he did. But the black scales gave him only one idea.

"A Night Fury?" He asked no one in particular, but he failed to mask the wonder in his words. "Wha...what happened to me?" he asked as he turned to face his Dad.

"I was hoping that you could tell us," Stoick forced out through gritted teeth.

See his father's expression and the axe that was twitching in his right hand, Hiccup tried to retreat only to fall flat on his belly before he could go one step. Walking on four legs was not intuitive at all.

"Dad, I can explain," Hiccup quickly spurted out.

Hiccup tried to stand only for his legs to give out. He collided with the wood floor again. Suddenly, the dragon on the ground started to shiver and spasm with its head jarring every which way like a scared, cornered animal.

"Oh Odin," Hiccup said in a flurry, "I have wings and claws." Hiccup's eyes widened humorously and he gulped. "And a tail…."

The small, black dragon took a deep breath and felt the heat in his chest rise like he was going to spit. Rapidly shutting his mouth, Hiccup threw his front two legs over his muzzle and held it closed. He sheepishly pulled his wings and tail in closer to his body.

Releasing his grip, Hiccup chuckled, the sounds falling out of his mouth like ants into a river – hopelessness filling their every pore. Large, black ears shivered as they lay flat on the young dragons head; frightened green eyes and a quivering frown adorned the beast's muzzle with his legs sprawled out and forgotten like a lackadaisical fool. Light clicking sounds fought through the thick and smoky air as keen claws nervously tapped the wooden floor.

The Night Fury swallowed audibly.

With his best half-smile, Hiccup cautiously glanced up at the imposing Viking towering above him and mumbled out, "It was just a slight miscalculation."

Stoick's roar could be heard over the entire island.

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**Authors Notes:** Edited on July 3rd, 2014


	3. Quite a Clawful

**Paradigm Shift**

Chapter 2: Quite a Clawful

* * *

Stoick's voice was loud enough to shatter mountains. "What do you mean, miscalculated?" he roared, causing his trophies to shake sporadically on their shelves. "You planned this?"

Hiccup tried to make himself as small as possible: his wings folded in and his neck scrunched up to get his head as far away as possible from the looming figure of his father. He flattened his ears so much that they looked like a part of his head. Large, green eyes widened and focused solely on the Viking Chief.

"No!" the dragon sputtered out in a panic, "It was just, I mean…I don't know what happened." Like a dying animal, Hiccup's breath came out in overreacting, accelerating bursts.

Stoick took a step and stood over the dragon that was shaking more than a freezing man in winter.

"There was that sound, then I slipped and-" the dragon said in a high-pitched squeak.

With a crunch of wood, the axe in Stoick's hand came rushing down.

"Please don't hurt me!" The dragon loudly pleaded and threw his front legs over his eyes.

With a massive thud, the metal of the axe imbedded itself into the wood in front of Hiccup's face. Lifting his limbs tentatively, Hiccup eyed the obtrusion with worry. The gray iron was separated from the handle of the weapon. Eyes tracing up, the Night Fury examined his father.

Stoick's knuckles were bone white and gripping a broken handle. The wood was splintered and cut into the giant Vikings hand in multiple places; little drips of red fell and splattered on the thirsty, dry wood.

With a slow, deep breath, Stoick turned and chucked the remains of the handle. It came to a clattering halt somewhere in the corner of the hut, hidden amidst various pieces of rubbish.

The voice the dragon used was begging, fast-paced and worried, "I never wanted this to happen; I didn't know it could happen."

Hiccup lurched forward and rested his left foreleg on the large man's boot. A quiet, anemic, "Please," fell from the dragon's muzzle as it laid its head on the ground and began to shake in noisy cries.

The room was mostly quiet. The light sobbing of the dragon was all that could be heard and cut into the ambience like sharp glass. Stoick just stared down at the quivering dragon hanging onto his feet as if it were a matter of life or death.

Without so much as a word, Stoick shook the dragon off his boot and approached Spitelout.

Hiccup was never the strongest Viking, but he still had his pride. He did not cry, because Vikings did not cry. Sure, every once in a while something got in his eye and made it seem like he was upset, but even that didn't happen too often. Regardless, he never bawled like a baby.

Yet, that's exactly what he was doing. He couldn't help it. He kept hoping that he would wake up and it would all be a bad dream. But every time he started to calm down, something would happen to remind him of the freak he was: air would run over his wings, or his tail would thump against the ground, or his claws would scratch the wood floor.

Stoick and Spitelout argued passionately. At one point, Stoick even raised an axe and bellowed furiously into the cool evening – his harsh words a startling contrast to the tranquil air. If they hadn't been scared off years ago, the neighborly birds would definitely have used it as a reason to vacate the area.

Caught in his own personal gordian knot, Hiccup didn't listen to their conversation even though he easily could have with his astute hearing. It was as if the words flowed into one ear and out the other, their presence never registered and long forgotten.

The conversation between the two Vikings droned on for an alarmingly long while, before, without warning and a satisfied smirk, Spitelout turned on heel and marched out the door. The door closed with a resounding crack as the wood splintered around the handle. Stoick growled. A wooden cup, grasped tightly in trembling knuckles, dented and groaned under the suffocating pressure.

Hiccup finally managed to get his breathing under control. Instead of voluminous, hasty, panicky breathing that asphyxiated him, the rise and fall of his scaly chest became slower and controlled.

Under Hiccups sharp claws, the dust vibrated as thunderous steps shook them from their resting places. The steps came to a pause next to the Night Fury's face.

Green eyes opened, fear and uncertainty a close companion, and glanced at the leathery boots in front of them. The leather frayed off at points and small patches extended their lifeline, yet they didn't appear on the edges of death; instead, they simply appeared well-worn like a lively old man.

Hiccup didn't even have time to look up before his father's voice destroyed any confidence like a burst of cannon fire.

"Come."

It was never good when Stoick spoke in one or two words. He was not a man who dealt well with anger or disappointment – although, with Hiccup, those two seemed to walk hand in hand. Or maybe claw in claw now.

It would have been easy to follow his fathers stomping stride out the front door if he were still human.

Unless this…condition could be reversed, he would never walk like that again.

A tear appeared on the side of his eye. Hiccup ignored it.

The dragon on the floor swallowed his saliva. Then, with gritted teeth, the fire-breathing Hiccup came to a shaky stand on his four legs. They looked like a freezing child; quivering and shaking like a collapsing hut. As soon as he raised one claw to attempt a step, the rest of them gave out and he came crashing down on his soft belly. Long, white marks appeared on the wood where his claws had slid.

Once more, the four-legged creature tried to stand on his own. Again, he failed.

Dust and wood started to rattle under Hiccup's claws as the marching footsteps of Stoick approached once more. The large man stopped right next to the sprawled out dragon.

Stoick muttered something that suspiciously sounded like, "Useless," and reached down. His warm fingers came down and gripped the scaly dragon in the mid section. Without so much as a warning, the large Viking stood up straight and lifted his query with him.

"Dad, what are you doing?" the dragon yelped in a high pitch. Like organic spears, four little limbs, with sharp claws attached, floundered about.

The pressure on Hiccups chest increased, but it was Stoick's words that caused the flailing legs to freeze mid-motion, "I can declaw you."

Yet again, Stoick marched out of the house, this time carrying a limp dragon in his grasp like it was an oversized pet. Still, even with the chief's impressive height, Hiccup's tail dragged between his legs, sliding along the ground and making a slithering, snake-like sound.

With stealth Hiccup never knew his father possessed, Stoick slinked around the edge of the house to reach the back.

Behind their house, in large part due to Gobber, was a crazy assortment of metal objects. Used once and forgotten, they collected behind Stoick's house like a graveyard. After all, Gobber wanted to dispose of the evidence and Stoick couldn't care less. It was, once upon a time, a favorite play place of Hiccups – a jungle of iron, steel and copper.

Stoick approached a rectangular object that came up to his waist. The floor and roof were imposing gray weathered steel, and three of the sides contained bars that had about two inches of separation between them. The last wall not only had the same bars, but also the outline of a door and a very imposing old, iron lock that seemed to wink deviously at the wide-eyed dragon. One of the dimensions was far longer than the other making the cage look a bit like a tunnel.

Stoick dropped his passenger on the ground, who landed with a plop and a terrified shriek and swung open the door. The old metal squeaked in protest.

"Get in." The chief's voice was unwavering and devoid of any emotion.

Green eyes fearfully eyed the enclosure, which was barely large enough for him, and gulped. His breathing and pulse accelerated.

"Why?" Hiccup would be lying if he said he kept the tremble out of his voice.

"Because, as a human, you burned down our house three times, demolished six boats, two towers, and nearly destroyed the Mead Hall, which has stood for centuries. As a dragon, I honestly fear what you are accidentally capable of. Get in the cage. Now."

Stoick voice rang in Hiccups head with absolute conviction like a jailor announcing a life sentence. With drooping ears and wings, the human-turned-dragon used his claws to crawl into the confinement. The fit was not as tight as he feared it would be, but that didn't mean it was roomy. He could kneel down like a dog and his head only scrapped the ceiling – a benefit of being only three feet tall in such a position. His wings, on the other claw, had to remain completely folded and pressed up against the bars of his prison. He also had to curl his tail around his body – a detraction of being almost eight feet long. It was a posture that, with any matter of time, would be very uncomfortable.

The failing light of the day disappeared altogether as Stoick threw something over the cage; it looked like an old ships sail but was far too malleable – most likely some type of brown cloth or blanket. Hiccup reached out to tried to feel the material. Unfortunately, the bars were dense enough that he could only fit the tips of his claws in-between them.

With a strange sense of vertigo, Hiccup yapped cutely as his cage was lifted off the ground.

"Where are we going?" he asked with a stutter.

Hiccup closed his eyes and tried to ignore the sway of his father steps. It was just like being on a boat.

Stoick said, "I'm not about to show you in front of the village. Not before we explain what happened and discuss your fate."

Long ears tried to stand at attention, but ran into the ceiling. Cold, impassive iron stopped his wings causing Hiccup to wince as he instinctively tried to unfold them.

"My fate? What does that mean!" Hiccup said with a cross between paralyzing dread and impudent annoyance.

"That's for the village to decide." It was the first time Hiccup was able to detect anything in Stoick's voice: there was uncertainty and fear of his own hidden deep below the surface.

Hiccup just needed a shovel to dig it up. Too bad using one would be difficult with his current biological makeup.

Still he tried, "But you're the chief! Can't you just veto it?"

Silence reigned for a few minutes. Hiccup closed his eyes as the sway of the cage briefly got to him. Eventually, a more resigned and collected Stoick answered, "I have this feeling. This quivering, like butterflies in my chest. At first, I was sure it was just nerves, but now…." Stoick rapidly shook his head back and forth. "I want to believe but," the chief struggled to find words, "look at you!" he exclaimed.

"Dad, I'm still me, I swear. I swear to Mom." Hiccup subconsciously rubbed a small, linear scar under his muzzle with a claw. "Please, trust me."

Heavy breathing was the only thing that answered. After all, Hiccup probably weighed about half as much as Stoick or maybe even more and with the cage, it was a heavy burden. Honestly even with Stoick's fortitude, the manner in which he was carrying Hiccup was an impressive display of strength.

After a moment, the dragon's father started to speak as a leader with a domineering accent. It made his words seem tight and almost cruel.

"While I deal with the village you are to stay out of sight. Spitelout's son will be making sure you don't get any ideas – or other miscalculations – until we decide your fate."

Hiccup's entire body tensed and he banged his head on the roof of the cage. Wincing and trying to rub the top of his head – his front limbs couldn't bend right in their confinement – Hiccup complained, "Snotlout! No, anyone but him."

With the sharpness that only a parent could have, Stoick quickly snapped, "Quiet! No more whining."

Instead, Hiccup decided to sigh, quite loudly.

It took only a few minutes for them to reach their destination. Stoick had grown quite tense when they had to traverse through a crowded area, but thankfully, his serious expression deterred any distractions and they made it through without a fuss. Hiccup had kept his muzzle sealed tight, part due to a threat from his father and part because his newfound condition was embarrassing.

There was the squeak of an old door and the battering of powerful steps on wood. Then, with a thud, Stoick set the cage down and immediately the footsteps retreated and disappeared from Hiccup's hearing. The door clattered shut.

The darkness in Hiccup's cage was absolute and left the small Night Fury anxious. Hiccup needed not wait long. Suddenly, the cloth over his cage was flung away, and light flooded in like an overflowing stream.

He was in a large wooden house. It was quite similar to his own, but contained, a feat that Hiccup was sure was impossible, even more dragon trophies. There were skulls, claws and even eyeballs. It made the Night Fury squirm a bit. Two oak doors bordered the room along with three different windows. There was also, if the smoky smell was to go by, a fire just out of Hiccup's sight.

A short, brown-haired Viking stood in front of him with brown, weathered material tightly gripped in his right hand. He had a piggy nose, chubby cheeks and blue eyes. His bulky arms were massive and almost as large as his legs. The young teenager in question was wearing a leather vest, a large belt with a carved face and woolen trousers. Hiccup, if fully standing on four legs would have reached his upper chest.

His name was Snotlout Jorgenson, cousin and not quite best friend of Hiccup.

Blue eyes narrowed as they examined the Night Fury in question; slightly yellow teeth chewed on dirt-caked lips.

With a timid smile, Hiccup nervously raised his right paw and gave a halfhearted wave at his longtime rival.

"Uh, Hi?"

Snotlout's gaze grew wide-eyed and he appeared to be trying to keep his lips closed. They started to quiver like waves in the ocean before the large boy let out of a burst of laughter and fell down on his butt. He used a pudgy arm to wipe tears from his eyes as he guffawed vehemently.

The Night Fury's long ears flattened on his head and his large, luminous eyes narrowed slightly.

"I fail to see what's so funny." Hiccup stated.

Snotlout, who was now banging the ground with his fist, managed to get out a comment between lulls in his mirth, "Only you could fail so hard."

Suddenly, a sound cut through the evening air like a well-maintained axe through the neck of a dragon. Hiccup, once again, thumped his head against the roof of his cage.

The sound was the long drawl of a horn, a very specific horn. The pitch was not as low as a war call, nor as high as a message of hope. It was right in the middle – a call for a village meeting.

Hiccup slouched down in his cage, trembling like a scorned dog. "Oh Odin, I'm screwed," he said hopelessly.

Snotlout stood up, still wiping residual tears from his eyes and cheeks, and said, "Look at the bright side, at least you have claws and teeth. You actually look pretty cool." The Viking shrugged. "Still, a scrawny loser though, I doubt a normal dragon of your kind, whatever that is, would be so puny. Just goes to show you can't fix weak."

And with that, Snotlout hit his thigh with an arm and gave a chortle of laughter.

Hiccup stared at his cousin with a long and slightly tilted face.

Snotlout, still smiling, rubbed his chin. After a brief moment, his eyes lit up. "Maybe I can get dad to give me your pelt after they skin you," he muttered lightly, contemplatively.

Like it was doused in water, Hiccup's heart skipped a beat. His muscles tensed and his wings banged against the cage as he reflectively tried to open them. The collision caused Hiccup to flinch.

"Yeah, I'm sure a pelt of scales would work great," Hiccup said and ignored the light throbbing in his left wing.

A scholarly intellectual, Snotlout replied with an elegant, "Huh?"

Silence took control of the reins for a moment before Hiccup swiped them back.

"You really are as dumb as you look," he said flatly.

With both voice and the cracking of knuckles, the reply was almost instantaneous, "What was that?" Snotlout growled and picked up a nearby axe. The metal seemed to gleam in the waning sunlight.

Apprehensively watching the manicured iron with shifty, green eyes, Hiccup instinctively pushed against the back iron bars.

"Nothing cousin, just muttering to myself," the dragon murmured softly.

"That's right you are," Snotlout said and hit the cage with the edge of his axe. "Even with your claws, teeth and pointy ends, I can still smash your face in."

Ears ringing like someone rang a gong right in his face; Hiccup closed his eyes and rapidly shook his head back and forth.

Snotlout with a cheeky, satisfied grin on his face began to hum a harsh tune and strut away from the dragon with a minute skip in his step. He disappeared through a nearby doorway.

Feeling like a trapped bird, Hiccup's green eyes turned to a nearby window and he, as best he could, watched the sunlight disappear beyond the horizon – the yellows and reds mixed and morphed like the sky was the canvas of a four year old child who had just discovered paint.

A shiver went down the black dragon's spine and he tried to shake it out, but in his mind he kept wondering: would this be the last sunset he ever saw?

That rickety humming came back as Snotlout reentered the room; the old, wooden door banged loudly.

In his fist was a large, juicy, delicious-looking drumstick. Small, stringy pieces of chicken hung from his mouth as Snotlout, with the ferociousness of a wolf, attacked the meal vigorously.

Hiccup swallowed, and his stomach loudly complained with an irritating rumble.

Pausing mid-bite, the teenage Viking looked over at the cage and blinked.

The black dragon's muzzle smiled wistfully.

"I'm hungry too," Hiccup said with a slight chuckle and downward turned eyes.

"That sucks for you."

Like he was a cute, gigantic house cat, Hiccup gave out a small roar of annoyance, it just, much to his displeasure, came out more like a low-toned meow.

"Oh, come on," he said, "give me something. Please?"

Rolling the drumstick casually around his fingers, Snotlout asked, "And what's in it for me?"

With a dash of inspiration, Hiccup didn't say anything. Instead, he made sure to droop his wings, gently shake his tail, flatten his ears and watch his cousin with extremely wide, grief-stricken eyes.

Snotlout paused. But after a moment of fidgeting in place he threw a nasty glare at the adorable black dragon.

"Damn you, Hiccup." He growled. Throwing his hand up in frustration, he continued, "Fine, I'll find something for you to gnaw on."

As Snotlout stomped away and slammed the door open, Hiccup caught one last statement coming from his mouth, "The Village is probably going to execute you, so I guess it can be your last meal."

A shiver ran all the way from his muzzle to the tip of his tail.

"You really know how to take the fun out of everything, you know that?" Hiccup called out to the retreating Viking.

When he came back, Snotlout marched up to the edge of the cage with a pale fish that was about as long as his arm. It would never fit between the bars. Snotlout, however, had other ideas. He brought his axe down on the fish and cut a long, thin strip of flesh and, without a single word, threw the salty and slightly bloody smelling fish into the cage. It landed on Hiccups nose.

Two tantalizing green orbs went cross-eyed as they examined the long, white piece of meat. The dragon sniffed loudly and a look of disgust appeared on his face.

"I'm not eating this," Hiccup declared.

Snotlout blinked. "What, Why?"

"It's raw," Hiccup said as he swatted the fish off his nose.

"Dragons eat things raw," Snotlout said slowly with a cocked eyebrow.

Hiccup growled and showed his white teeth. "I'm not a dragon! Besides, how do you know they don't cook 'em up real quick with their fire or something."

Blue eyes rolled in their sockets and Snotlout furiously grumbled. After a moment, he glanced at Hiccup and with a smirk asked, "Well, then why don't you cook the fish with yours?"

"My what?" Hiccup asked with a light snarl. The next second, the aggression was gone as Hiccup blinked and gingerly stated, "Fire breath? I don't know how."

Joyous and loud, Snotlout's chuckle rode through the air.

"You really are worthless," the Viking said.

"You're just," Hiccup struggled to find words and eventually settled on, "blarg!" The dragon reactively jumped a bit in his cage and hit his head with a clang.

"Just try the stupid fish, you wimp."

Once again attempting to rub the top of his irritated head, the Night Fury watched the strip of meat with one eye.

Finally, his stomach gave a tremendous, noisy objection and Hiccup sighed. With overly careful deliberation, his muzzle reached down and picked up the seafood. Like a piece of pasta, Hiccup slurped it up.

At first it wasn't too bad, tasting mostly of salt and light, creamy meat, but then it hit like a club of rocks. It slid down his throat and felt as if it were wiggling, squirming, fighting to get free.

Hiccup gagged and his stomach lurched painfully. The fish came up to the top of his throat but immediately started to slide down again like a kid stuck in a wet ditch. It was literally the most revolting thing Hiccup could remember.

"You poisoned me!" he shouted in between coughs. "Get it out, get it out!" The dragon squealed and rocked its cage as black paws swiped at a rough pink tongue. "I'm dying," Hiccup sputtered and collapsed, as much as the cage allowed him to, onto the floor.

With a narrow long rod, Snotlout poked the body of the dragon whose chest was laboriously moving up and down in periodic waves. The dragon groaned.

"And I though dragons were supposed to be somewhat tough," Snotlout mused.

"I'm not a dragon!" Hiccup shouted, his voice slightly muffled by his posture on the ground.

"Uh huh," was Snotlout's response, but his eyes weren't watching just as his ears weren't listening.

Hiccup quickly pointed a claw at his contemplative cousin. "Don't you, of all people, get smart with me!"

A wicked smile grew on Snotlout's face like a parasitic plant. Snotlout opened his mouth, but before he could get any words out, the door to the room exploded open causing Hiccup to, yet again, bang his head on the ceiling of the cage.

Stoick entered the room, his steps making the very ground quake, and headed for his son. Without so much as a word, he grabbed the nearby cloth and tossed it back over the top of the cage. Just as last time, Hiccup's world plunged into darkness.

"Dad?" Hiccup tentatively asked.

"It's time, the rest of the village wants to see you."

With a miniscule grunt of exertion, Stoick picked up the cage and started to head out the door.

After a few minutes, Hiccup found his voice once more. "What's going to happen?" he asked quietly, lightly stumbling over his words.

His father didn't respond.

There was a smell in the air that was blooming: full of foul sweat; bloodstained iron; smoky fire; old, damp wood; and scrumptious meat. The concatenation was strange and caused Hiccup's nose to wrinkle.

The scent grew stronger still until it became almost overpowering and Stoick came to a sudden pause.

If Hiccup could have seen out of the shielded enclosure, he would have been able to see the incredibly intricate doors in front of them. The shapely wood was carved to include a myriad of symbols from the sun to weapons to the slaying of a dragon. But while Hiccup couldn't see it, he could hear it open – a long, creaky sound that emanated power and wisdom. Inside, he could hear what sounded like buzzing bees. The chatter was so murmured and slurred that he couldn't make out a single word or identify any one speaker.

In a short time, this group of Vikings, a people who detested fire-breathing, flying lizards more than mosquitoes and hot muggy days combined, would decide the future of the small human-turned-dragon.

With no acknowledgement of his son, Stoick took a steadying breath, tore the cloth off his cage, and took a step inside.

The small Night Fury closed his eyes, shaking like a tree in a hurricane and audibly gulped.

* * *

**Author Notes:** Hiccup is about half the size of Toothless and a fourth of the weight. Also, Snotlout needed no convincing that the dragon was Hiccup for a few reasons: mostly, the dragon still acts and talks just like him; and children are much more open to crazy ideas than adults who are locked in their ways and beliefs. As for whether the rest of the village will think the same we will have to wait and see. Stoick has his doubts but subconsciously still treats Hiccup much the same. After all, Hiccup is not exactly acting like a dragon would and then there is the whole talking thing...

Edited on July 5th 2014


	4. That Sinking Feeling

**Paradigm Shift**

Chapter 3: That Sinking Feeling

* * *

The Mead Hall was not supposed to be a disturbing place. It was supposed to be a place of cheer, good drink and enthusiastic war stories. Right not, it was not acting as advertised.

Hiccup cringed as his cage was pulled into the slightly dark, sacred hall. A fire raged in the center with its smoke creating a thick plume that rose up into the air and escaped through a hole in the roof.

All around the area were Vikings: some tall, some short, some male, some female, all menacing. But Hiccup wasn't watching them. Instead, his large green eyes focused on the hall itself and its intricate decorations. The carvings depicted various themes, but most popular by far was the dragon. Not as a nice, cute animal, the dragon symbolized brutality both in the way it terrorized its victims and the vivid, representations of its crushing defeats. Before, Hiccup had no problem with a small, triumphant figure ripping out the throat of a dragon and roaring to the world. Now, with his current predicament, it felt a tad disturbing.

Rapidly shaking his head, Hiccup cleared his mind and then, with a smile, looked around the room. All manners of green, red and blue eyes watched him like demented stars.

With a crash, Stoick dropped Hiccup's cage on the floor in front of the fire. The great man then joined Spitelout and a large, one-armed, one-legged man called Gobber.

The room's silence was suffocating. Hiccup tried to slink back in his cage and melt into the floor. His ears drooped and he turned his gaze away from the staring, murderous eyes surrounding him. Subconsciously, a large scaly tail nervously tapped the ground in an unrecognizable melody.

Stoick's voice shattered the ambiance like a dragon's roar at midnight. "As we told you, Hiccup is now a dragon."

All at once, the room exploded in shouts and furious muttering. But shockingly enough, Stoick, with an impassive face, did nothing to quell the increasing rabble. However, the man needed not do anything.

Hiccup, momentarily forgetting his nerves, yelled, "I'm not a dragon!"

Like someone had uttered the dirtiest curse known to man, the room plunged into dead silence. Open-mouthed Vikings, some of them with a twinkle of curiosity in their eyes, watched the squirming black dragon in front of them.

It lasted only a second before the room once again embraced chaos.

"It talks?"

"Impossible."

"Just what did you do, Stoick?"

But, loudest of all, screeching like a bird with ruffled feathers was a female Viking named Brynhilda. When she was young, a Deadly Nadder attacked and poisoned her. Brynhilda, for whatever reason, was not affected by the toxin. Even since then, she had been immune even though no on knew how or why. She, being the obsessive believer she were, claimed it was a gift from the gods for good faith.

"This is why I tell my children to beware Muninn," Brynhilda said with her sprawling, low-pitched drawl. "Odin's wrath will be great to those who are unworthy or insult him."

"I haven't seen a raven for weeks," Hiccup said with a confused expression.

Brynhilda rounded on the black dragon with the wrath of a Valkyrie, "They're black as night," she bellowed – rumbling Hiccup's ears, "how do you know they didn't see you once the sun died?"

Using a claw to massage his ears, Hiccup eyed the massive, huffing woman with annoyance. He then sighed, his hot breath warming the cold steel in front of him.

"Well," Hiccup started carefully, "Huginn and Muninn both set out in the morning and watch the affairs of the world, right? So that would mean they return to Odin, every night, to inform him of their discoveries. So tell me, how could they have seen me at night if they were with Odin?"

The black dragon tossed the Viking a smile full of white teeth.

Brynhilda face turned purple in rage. Her eruption caused the fire in the room to flicker lightly. "You impudent child! Why, I have never seen such a twisted tongue – they don't report every night – to claim such is foolhardy to the extreme. You deserve this ailment. Beware, lest Odin take your voice too. Just because he offered that mercy doesn't mean he can't snatch it away."

A smaller, muscular man who reminded Hiccup of a rock forced his seething wife into a seat. Before her large, flabby bun could strike the poor wooden chair under her, the voices started their muttering again.

It was like a series of really vicious crickets – the chirping was harrowing and dangerous; a feeling of sickening unease wormed its way into Hiccups throat, swallowing did nothing to quell the discomfort.

Finally, one voice rose above the others, "I don't get it, why can the dragon speak?"

"I'm not a dragon!" Hiccup roared as his body tightened like it was wound around a spoke. "How many times do I have to say it?"

The same dry, boring voice drifted through the stuffy hall. "A lot more or my eyes are failing me completely. Tell me, are those scales?"

Various murmurs of agreement rose out of the crowd.

Hiccup did not like some of the looks he was getting; some of them, specifically, on his left side, had a glint of excitement – not the kind of excitement from a present or a birthday, but the kind that only shows its face right before battle: exhilaration and bloodlust.

His tail started to thump against the steel bottom of the cage. A brief sigh, a moment to collect his breath and Hiccup started to speak as loud and clear as his nervous stutter would allow. "We all know that dragons are blood thirsty monsters that always go for the kill. Right?" No one answered, but they all watched intently. "That's undisputable fact. And I've sat here all nice and calm. How can I be a dragon?"

The hair-raising chatter arose again, but before it became deafening, Hiccup continued on his tirade, "I'm wearing a different skin, but I'm still the same person underneath, just with wings, and fangs, and a tail, and fire breath, and," Hiccup raised a claw and scratched at his chin, "you know what, forget I said that."

A slow clap started from right in front of Hiccup. Like a dog, his ears perked up, promptly obstructed by the roof of the cage, and the dragon looked toward the noise with a narrow frown.

Two scared hands made slow, dramatic motion that danced in the firelight. Their owner, Spitelout smiled. For Hiccup, who was a bit of a failure in the second commands eyes, it almost assuredly meant trouble.

In a display of unwavering confidence, the man's hands rose into the air. Everyone's eyes watched as the fingers intervened like woven cloth and came to a stop on the man's head.

"And the kid answers what I have said all along." Spitelout said, "He's most certainly Hiccup. Only a fool would think otherwise."

Hiccup's jaw practically hit the floor in flabbergasted astonishment. Spitelout never defended him. It was like a nice dragon, it just didn't happen….

"Of course, it's still Hiccup! He is being punished for-" Brynhilda screeched. Thankfully, everyone ignored her.

Hiccup rolled his eyes. With light methodic clangs, his claws started to tap the bottom of his cage: he was getting so sick of confinement. His wings were roaring complaints all over, but the pain was especially bad just above his shoulder blades; he needed to stretch them badly.

And the smoke; Hiccup scrunched up his face and rapidly rubbed the tip of his snout. The smell was atrocious not just from the fire and smoke – which was conveniently drifting into his cage – but from the Vikings in the area. It was a swimming cesspool of disgusting smells. At this rate, Hiccup was sure the scents were mating with one another and creating revolting offspring. The dragon trembled.

Having a nose this strong was not a perk, whatsoever, in Hiccups esteemed opinion.

A different voice, feminine for a Viking but still harsh and craggy, attracted the Night Fury's attention.

"Okay, lets say, for just a second, that the dragon is Hiccup both in body and mind. Well how in Thor's name did this happen?"

Stoick, for the first time since Hiccup arrived, weighed in, "I'd like to know that myself."

Hundreds of expectant eyes glared down at the cage.

"I don't know!" Hiccup furiously exclaimed, "I shot down that Night Fury last night-"

The entire room erupted into laughter. It was as if someone cut the tense atmosphere of the room with an enormous sword. Even Vikings, who before were watching with narrowed, devious glares, now shook their heads, rolled their eyes, and chuckled loudly. Hiccup even observed a few Vikings face palm.

"It's true, I DID," Hiccup shouted at them all. "Then, when I went to find it this morning it was gone."

The guffaws of the room increased.

"Fancy that," Stoick said as he rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"It's not funny," Hiccup pouted. His wings, as much as they could, drooped and his ears fell down across his head. Even his tail, which was still tapping out some unrecognizable melody, stopped and seemed to slouch down.

Stoick elevated his right arm and spoke without raising his voice even a smidgen, "Enough." The room quieted almost immediately, but there were still a few snorts here and there. Finally, after the room settled completely, Stoick gestured to the fuming dragon, "Continue"

"Well, I was out near Ravens Point and there was this noise, so I turned to check it out. But the slope was unstable and I went plummeting into this ravine. There was blood in the water from a sheep or something with fur, and then, when I was trying to climb out, I blacked out. Afterwards, the entire area was charred black like something burnt it. It was then that the pain first struck."

"Pain?" someone asked.

Hiccup peered toward his right to identify the speaker but was unable to. He continued, "Yeah, worst I have ever felt – all over, like my body was submerged in it. Somehow I manage to make it home where I collapsed. I woke up when Dad and Spitelout came in and went down to see them. The pain returned and I blacked out again. When I woke, I was like this."

Disturbed murmurs ran through the room in an amalgamated mess of noise that sounded a bit like a sea of bees.

Spitelout, over the buzzing, said with steadfast conviction, "The transformation was quite disturbing; I'd rather not get into it, honestly." But, unlike his voice, his body shivered lightly as if he were cold.

A voice from the left called out – this time Hiccup was able to see whom: a man with a stubby mustache and long triangle-shaped beard. The beard was quivering as the man spoke.

"Sounds like the kid got struck by lightning," he said "it comes so fast that it can knock you on your butt before you even know it got yeah. Did you know that I have a cousin that has been hit six times? I'm so jealous; I've always wanted to get hit by lightning." A glossy look appeared in the man's gray eyes as he drifted off in a fantasy.

"But there were no clouds." Hiccup tried to say but everyone else overpowered his comment.

"Aren't Night Furies supposed to be the offspring of lightning and death?" Someone asked.

Brynhilda waved her large arms and stood up. The wood creaked under the mammoth of a woman. "That's just stupid rhetoric – it's the gods that are punishing him," she spoke as if she were educating a child.

Hiccup couldn't help it. His mouth moved off its own intention. It wasn't really his fault. Brynhilda had always been against him; while most of the village ignored him, she went out of her way to complain, usually to Stoick, about what an abomination he was. Hiccup was sure it was because her own children were nearly as unimpressive as him. Needless to say, when he told her such, she had doubled her efforts.

"Well, you claimed that my predicament was due to Odin," Hiccup said with a toothy smile and sarcastic cheer, "but if I got struck by lightning wouldn't that mean Thor was my benefactor? And with the death thing, maybe Hel or Freyja joined in too?"

Spitelout laughed. He, despite all of their differences, shared Hiccups settlements when it came to the loud, obnoxious women.

"Why you little-" she pushed her way through the crowd and approached the trapped dragon.

Hiccup, despite the situation, retaliated. "Does that make them my second set of parents?"

Those that knew Hiccup sighed and rubbed their foreheads; everyone else watched the dragon with a peculiar expression that Hiccup couldn't read. Brynhilda's expression, however, was easily decipherable: eyes bulging, veins throbbing, hair frazzled, and snorting like a bull, she looked perfectly capable of skinning small, helpless dragons. The knife in her hand accented the feeling dramatically.

"I'm joking!" Hiccup said desperately as if just remembering where he was and why.

Brynhilda stomped toward Hiccup brandishing her weapon.

"Brynhilda put the knife down," Stoick said with his head in his hands, not even watching the events unfold in front of him.

The large woman huffed and Hiccup swore he saw steam come from her nose. For a second, he wondered if he should ask her for fire-breathing lessons.

She rounded on Stoick and pointed her weapon at him while she spoke, "You should have paid more attention to my warnings about your son, Stoick! Now the God's wrath have struck, and both of you are suffering the consequences."

"Now wait a second, how do we know Night Furies aren't made from lightning and death?" someone asked.

Brynhilda threw her head back and laughed maniacally.

"What?" the man, known as Bloodeyes, said with an angry glare, "We know next to nothing about them. How do we even know he is a Night Fury? It's not like anyone has seen one."

Gobber, a good friend of Stock, replied with sarcasm that bit so hard it left teeth marks, "We could always go ask the one that attacks all the time. Who knows, maybe it can talk too."

With deadly, disturbing calm like the eye of a hurricane, Stoick claimed, "He's a Night Fury."

"I'm not arguing with you Chief, it just seems so strange." Bloodeyes rubbed his chin, thoughtfully. "We have never seen one before and Hiccup just happens to turn into one. Seems like a crazy coincidence."

"It's not a coincidence, the Gods-"

Spitelout, in no mood to listen to the woman start another tirade, quickly established dominance in the conversation. He said, "How they're born isn't important. What is important is if he is a dragon mentally. And unless Night Furies are unlike any dragon I have every meant, I would wager that Hiccup still thinks like a man.

Yet another voice rose up through the hall, "Hold up, how do we know this…thing isn't just pullin' our legs. I don't believe, not even for a second, that it's Hiccup."

Quite a few shouts of agreement echoed the man's sentiments.

With a roll of his eyes and a frustrated growl, Spitelout stated, quite simply, "Fine, I'll show you."

Hiccup watched tentatively as the Viking approached his cage. As he advanced, Spitelout pulled out a spear with a small flurrying twirl. The light from the fire glinted and reflected off of the sharp point in a menacing wink.

Then, without so much as a warning, Spitelout stabbed the spear, angled downward, through the bars of the cage. A massive clang rang through Hiccup's astute ears as the metal weapon thrust into the iron under his paws. The spear missed but only barely. Eyes widening, Hiccup threw himself backward as much as he could – his wings crinkled painfully against the bars and his tail got tangled, but he didn't even notice. The only thing on his mind was getting as far from that spear as possible.

"No dragon would be terrified in such a way," Spitelout said dryly. "They only think of death."

With a light grimace of teeth, Spitelout yanked at the spear. It came free with a scratchy, irritating pang. Not even a second later did the spear come down again, but this time it found its target. The rusted, archaic lock fell to the ground and landed on the wood with a thud.

The gate, in a mocking, teasing way, opened slowly with an ear-shattering creak. Hiccup winced painfully, but kept his eyes locked on the spear. He did notice Spitelout wave his hand as if gesturing him to come out, but his mind lagged behind and it took him a minute to process the action.

Hiccup threw one more terrified glance at the spear and thought about refusing to come out, but quickly refuted that idea when he realized that, with the door open, stabbing him would be trivial for someone as skilled as Spitelout.

With a dramatic groan, the dragon attempted to take a step out of the cage. Well, the first few weren't too bad as he still had the cage to lean on, but as soon as he was clear his quivering legs gave out and he fell to the ground with a grunt of annoyance.

Spitelout's eyes shined with elitist embellish as he looked down at the small Night Fury. He turned, looked at the crowd and said, "Not to mention, he can't walk because he retained his human instincts."

The crowd's argumentative whispers broke out again, but seemed less hostile overall.

"And if that's still not enough to convince you," he growled out. Then, with the chill-inducing, blood-freezing, smirk of an egotistical maniac, Spitelout walked up to a female Viking nearby. He whispered into her ear.

At first, she seemed confused, if her pointed eyebrows and shifty eyes were anything to go by, but then a similarly diabolical smirk arose on her face and caused her eyes to start twinkling. With his excellent hearing, Hiccup could make out something about walking and slashing.

Both sounded superiorly dreadful. Hiccup gulped loudly. But he did take the time to attempt to unfold his massive wings. He very carefully, as if he hoped no one would notice, opened them while wincing periodically. The feeling was so strange – like he had two absolutely massive arms on either side of him; the weight in particular was so peculiar compared to when he was a human. Experimentally, he fanned the smaller wings on his tail. It confounded him that he could move the muscles with little to no thought even though he obtained them only a few hours ago.

The snapping of fingers caused his ears to stand at attention and he glanced over at Spitelout only a half-dozen steps away.

"We're going to play a game," Snotlout's father said with a disturbing purr.

Hiccup shivered all the way from his head to the small wings on his tail. Nervously, he looked around the area quickly before turning his attention on the Viking and mumbling out, "Okay…."

"I want you to walk over to me. However, for every second you take," Spitelout pulled a curved, dastardly dirk, "I will cut her."

Hiccup's ears flattened and his wings gave an instinctive flutter as he watched the knife with a tense stare. "Uh, I fail to see where this is going. But, that's not really a-"

Other than his words, there was no prelude to Spitelout's actions. The dagger came down and sunk into the skin of the woman's arm like the teeth of a wolf.

A strange sound, half roar and half screech fell from Hiccup's muzzle. "What is wrong with you?" Hiccup shouted out as he lunged forward only to land flat on his belly with four legs and wings sprawled out.

With a wave of his hand, Spitelout said, "She's fine, it was just a scratch."

The woman scoffed as if insulted at the insulation that she was anything but.

"No dragon would ever show worry over a human's wellbeing," Spitelout continued.

The noise in the crowd became deafening as people chattered animatedly.

"It could have just smelt the blood and got excited," someone called out.

Spitelout sighed and rubbed his forehead. "I give up."

A man with a whitening beard that, while not massive was of respectable length, spoke for the first time of the night. The man, known as Ormr, was one of the oldest in the entire village. For decades, he had been around through thick and thin; the people of Berk revered his word.

"Okay, let's say this is just some crazy curse or whatever. How does that change anything? A Night Fury is still a danger to the village." Ormr calmly said. His voice was quiet, but he needed not raise it any further as the room went still to take in his words.

"Look at what Stoick's son did as a human," Ormr said as he examined the sprawled out dragon, "Surely, as a dragon, we would be lucky to make it through the month."

"And what is it you said Spitelout?" Ormr turned his blue eyes to the glaring Viking "Oh yes, he still has his human instincts. Hiccup, breath fire for all of us to see."

The black dragon, which was watching the crowds growing angst with trepidation, jumped as if shocked.

"Uh," Hiccup eyes darted around the Mead Hall like a child that was searching for an escape. Not finding any, the Night Fury turned and gave an innocent smile to the wise, old Viking. "I'm not sure that's a good idea."

Ormr shouted, spit flying from his mouth like rain from a cloud, "DO IT!"

Never before had Hiccup heard the old man raise his voice in such a manner and as such reared back as if struck. With an extremely terrified stutter, he said, "I…I don't know how."

A sad, line-like smile adorned Ormr's face. "He has zero control over his abilities and any warrior knows that someone who doesn't know how to use an axe is as much a danger to those around them as they are to those in front of them. And we know nothing of Night Furies. Maybe they all begin like this and the murderous instinct comes later. We have no idea, and if you really are the chief of this village, Stoick, you will not put us at needless risk."

The village cheered out its agreement. The sound floated through Hiccup like a chilling, bone-crushing curse.

"So what are you suggesting?" Stoick said impassively as if uninterested in the events. In fact, he wasn't even matching Ormr's gaze; instead, he was examining his nails.

It took Ormr a long time to respond.

"Look, I've dealt with dragons a long time and they don't act like that," he said pointing at the alarmed Hiccup still lying on the floor, "but we don't know how long he will stay docile. It could take forever, or we could wake up with our throats missing. Unless we know more, Hiccup cannot remain in Berk."

Hiccup felt his heart stop completely; his wide green eyes turned to his father's own and he said, with a terrified plead, "But, I have nowhere else to go…."

If anyone in the room heard his cry, they ignored him.

Spitelout, once again standing by Stoick's side, asked, "So, by your logic, if we could somehow prove Hiccup's sanity was stable, he could stay."

Ormr, showing his age, coughed loudly before addressing Spitelout, "If you can prove that he won't turn traitor at a moments notice, then I have no problem."

Like an unmoving statue, the Viking Chief remained as stoic as his name would imply.

The screech of a banshee was the next sound to grace the dragon's large ears, "Wait! If we are banishing Hiccup, that means no interaction with him. He would no longer be part of this village and with the harsh winter approaching and the increasing dragon raids we cannot waste any resources or time on him. You two," Brynhilda pointed at Gobber and Stoick, "are needed in the village. Not with a lost cause."

"And how are we supposed to prove he's harmless if we never see him?" Gobber asked. The rage in his eyes was extremely apparent; at the moment, the man was not someone a dragon would want to meet in a dark alley.

"Not my problem." Brynhilda haughty turned her nose up. "A true Viking learns to stand on their own. If Hiccup really is an asset, then he will prove it himself."

Gobber cracked something under his meaty fist, but Hiccup couldn't see what it was. He could, however, hear the snapping wood easily. It was also, for him, quite easy to hear the man's rampaging voice, "Now you listen here yeah little witch, I have been around dragons more than you ever will and I can tell you that-"

But nobody else listened to Gobber. Ormr had poisoned their minds against Hiccup. Just about everyone was certain the squirming black dragon was the trouble making Viking both physically and mentally, but Ormr had convinced them it didn't matter and that, at any moment, he could snap, become a _real_ dragon and take them out.

Stoick, letting a flash of emotion show, sighed loudly. "Anything else," he asked, a twinge of hopelessness just barely apparent in his voice.

Hiccup, his entire body twitching and fidgeting in fright, weakly asked, "I don't even know how to walk, how am I supposed to survive in the woods?"

By the silence in the room, the Night Fury was sure that they heard him, but not a soul answered.

"No, Chief," Ormr answered.

Hiccup started to crawl toward Stoick's feet. His wings dragged along the ground and his tail acted like dead weight. He begged his father for mercy.

Stoick stood up and called to the room, "All those in favor of banishing Hiccup from Berk."

Almost everyone in the room raised their chubby arms – a few were missing hands, but they didn't count any less.

"I see," Stoick said with resignation.

Unlike Stoick's impassive state, the hyperventilating dragon wiggled around like a crippled snake. He tossed one last pleading glare at his father who didn't even spare a glance. With a gulp, Hiccup, in a high-pitched voice as if he were a young child, said, "Oh, no."

And with that declaration, the two large eyes rolled to the back of his head and Hiccup passed out cold.

* * *

**Author Notes:** This chapter was exhausting to write. I wanted the Vikings to accept that Hiccup was the dragon – and not some mindless beast – but due to their paranoia and prejudice it didn't matter. They were much more comfortable sweeping the entire situation under the rug, so to speak. Of course, that puts Hiccup in a quite a predicament. And how in the world could Stoick have been so emotionless as his son was banished from the village? Let me know what you think!

Edited on July 5th, 2014


	5. Family Bonding

**Paradigm Shift**

Chapter 4: Family Bonding

* * *

An owl hooted in the dark forest. Its call reverberated and echoed off of trees in a disturbing, skin-rattling way that made you feel as if something were watching from just out of sight.

Hiccup's green eyes fluttered open.

The clearing was dark, but not pitch-black as the moon shined its rays down and gave everything an eerie, silver glow. Under his claws, Hiccup could feel dirt and small rocks poking into his paw like small pinpricks. Looking around, Hiccup was shocked at just how vivid everything was to his Night Fury eyes. Sure, the shadows accented things in weird ways, but it was very easy to see the rows of trees and vegetation both in front of and behind him. It was easier still to see the path he rested on, full of dirt and small rocks. There was even a fallen tree trunk down the way a bit and a bird hiding in a nearby bush.

But even with the detail, there were no distinguishable features in his immediate vicinity. The only reason he knew he was still on the same island was because he was able to see the tip of a spiky mountain just above the tree line.

Well, at least the Vikings of Berk hadn't just stuck him on a boat and pushed him out to sea. Instead, they had just dropped him off in a random point in the woods as if they didn't care where he went. Which, in reflection, they probably didn't.

After all, it was his job to make sure he avoided them – not the other way around. And the truly difficult part in avoiding his hometown had nothing to do with the lurches his heart kept giving, but rather because he had no idea where he was and therefore he had no idea which direction he shouldn't go.

"Well, this sucks," the dragon said with one more glance at his surroundings.

With a deep breath, the small dragon pushed up on his legs and attempted to stand. He held it momentarily, the little legs quivering and shaking like a scorned child before he collapsed.

The scent of soil and earth filled his nostrils as he lay on the ground. The little pieces of rocks and vegetation lightly tickled his stomach like a small stream of insects. A sigh, full of tired hopelessness, rang out.

In his head, a sickeningly sweet voice reverberated and bounced around like a ball. _"A true Viking learns to stand on their own. If Hiccup really is an asset, then he will prove it himself."_

Subconsciously, a growl, sounding far more dragon-like than anything Hiccup had done with his new body, started to grow from his rumbling throat. Eventually, Hiccup released the build up in a savage roar of fury and frustration. He hit the ground, hard, with one of his paws.

"I hate her – I really, truly do," the dragon said out loud. "Screw her. I'm going to prove her wrong. I will _NOT_ let this get the best of me. There is no way I'm dying until I wipe that stupid, fat sneer off her face."

One steadying breath later and Hiccup forced himself, this time with gritted teeth and narrowed eyes, to stand. His legs quivered and complained, but Hiccup forced himself up no matter how sore they were.

This time, the dragon did not find himself face first in the dirt. And with care, he lifted his front right paw. The unaccustomed weight of his wings and tail still threw the Viking off and he teetered like a man on a cliff, but he did not fall. His foot came into contact with the hard soil as the dragon finished his excruciating first step.

Hiccup let out a bark of laughter with sparkling green eyes and wings fluttering in happiness.

His mirth was short lived as he, once again, gritted his teeth and mentally clenched. His wings tensed and his tail shot out as straight as an arrow.

His maw opened and uttered, "You can do this Hiccup. First, shelter; second, food."

Yet, this time the dragon was unable to hold his balance and fell down. Thankfully, he was able to collapse onto his haunches in some mockery of a sitting position instead of landing on his stomach.

Groaning loudly, Hiccup prepared to give another attempt when he heard it. Directly in front of him, the bushes shivered as something, quite large made its way through them.

Hiccup's eyes widened humorously as he muttered out a weak, "Oh great," and waited for his guest to appear.

The vegetation parted way for a large four-legged creature with black scales and sparkling, luminous eyes that shown like miniature green suns. Majestic wings rested on either side of the creature, their calm disposition hiding their explosive and powerful nature. The creature, a dragon, looked exactly like Hiccup from head to tail-wings, but was about twice as tall and obviously much heavier.

A twig snapped under the creature's claws as it took a step toward the smaller Night Fury.

Hiccup, with a nervous chuckle, said, "I really hope dragons aren't cannibals, because if they are, I can assure you that eating me would be a terrible idea. With how my life is going, I doubt I could even play the part of food right. You would probably turn into a human or something…."

The larger dragon paused in mid step and studied Hiccup with narrowed eyes and a cocked head. Its wings twitched, and its tail swayed back and forth in careful, slow yet powerful strokes.

Another snapped twig; another step forward.

"Good dragon, you don't need to come any closer. I'm perfectly content with the view I have," Hiccup said; the edges of panic lacing his voice.

But the dragon didn't stop – it continued its methodical, slow march toward the other member of its species. It wasn't the calculating approach that disturbed Hiccup. It was the creature's eyes full of curiosity and annoyance. Those green orbs kept shifting and examining Hiccup as if he might disappear at a moments notice.

The dragon got within fifteen feet.

"Okay, get back!" Hiccup said, and lifted up his left foreleg as a shield, "I have claws and I can…swing them!"

Ten feet.

"I will shake my wings and make loud noises!" The pitch of Hiccup's voice rose drastically and he rushed through his words in a terrified haste.

The other Night Fury stopped when its face was so close that Hiccup could see the individual scales. Hiccup's green eyes stared into the creature's own version and the human-turned-dragon swore he could see something, a longing, in their crystalline beauty.

Hiccup audibly swallowed and tried to smile.

With one giant sniff, the other dragon reared back and eyed his smaller counterpart with disgust.

"Great, I probably still smell like a Viking," Hiccup mused.

Then without so much as a warning, a blaring pain smashed into Hiccup's skull like he was body slammed by a Gronckle. His vision blanked and Hiccup felt his body collide with the ground. All he could see were shifting bright colors like a rainbow and all he could hear was a screeching, moaning roar unlike anything he'd ever heard before. Finally, after what felt like hours, the sensation began to drain out of him like water from a pot and he was left lying on the ground, panting in total confusion. His tongue hung out of his mouth and he could taste the dirt.

Hiccup turned his green eyes upward to the other dragon and was shocked to find anger that positively glistened. Then, with a bone-chilling growl, the other dragon turned, haughtily perked its head up, and strolled away with a wagging tail and cavalier strut.

The twisting and ruffling of leaves were the only sounds that accompanied its exit from the scene. It never looked back.

For a few minutes, Hiccup remained on the ground and watched the woods while breathing deeply. Finally, with a sigh, the dragon ignored the soreness in his limbs and forced himself to a standing position.

"Thanks for the pounding headache. I really appreciate it!" Hiccup called out after the dragon.

Grumbling, the Night Fury watched the ground beneath his claws. Last time he had managed one step before collapsing. This time, he was going to make it two.

It took a while, and a few failures, but Hiccup managed to work his way to the bushes on the side of the road. The problem was his poor legs. They were throbbing and begging for mercy. Hiccup guessed that his new muscles came completely fresh and, therefore, had no true mass behind them. And if that were the case, the young dragon had no idea how he was going to survive. Building up muscle strength did take time after all.

Maybe if he could find that other dragon, he could, with pleading eyes and sagging wings, get it to give him some food. Then again, it had basically attacked him, mentally, so Hiccup wasn't so sure it would be willing to even entertain him. Besides, weren't dragons just mindless monsters anyway – after feeding him, it would probably just eat him or something. Right?

As he stood there, thinking, something long and narrow cut through the air like a knife and whipped harshly over his wings and under his belly. Surprised, Hiccup jumped and turned to examine the object when suddenly, the long, stringy thing tightened considerably and forced Hiccups wings against his body. With a yelp, the Night Fury instinctively tried to fold out his wings, but was unable to move them so much as an inch.

Eying the rope with extreme annoyance, Hiccup tried to dislodge it by shaking his wings and turning his body, but it stuck to him like glue, and was just out of reach of his claws. Although, if he tilted his neck just right, he might be able….

A voice ripped into the cool night air and caused Hiccup's head to snap back up. His eyes widened considerably when he saw the speaker.

"It's always a good idea to restrain the wings first," the masculine voice said. "The beast's first reaction is to fly away and, obviously, that would not be good for us."

"Spitelout!" Hiccup roared at the muscular Viking standing nearby. "Just what do you think you're doing!"

Spitelout, other than throwing a disturbing wink, completely ignored the fuming Night Fury. Instead, he turned toward his son, Snotlout, who held a great deal of rope in his hands.

The younger Viking's face was emotionless and serious with no hint of a smile anywhere close.

"The next step is somewhat of a personal choice." Spitelout told his son, "Once you get the wings – the dragon's instincts flare up and the creature will panic. It'll usually use its fire to defend itself at this point, which is why most people deal with the head next. However, I've always been more concerned with the beast running away."

Then, with a mighty heave, the large Viking tossed another coil of rope at the dragon. Hiccup, seeing the attack, ducked down. Of course, he didn't actually duck under the entire rope; instead, he merely bent down into the open circle. Spitelout gave a heave and the rope tightened instantly before Hiccup even realized what was happening. The rope collided with each of his feet and pulled them tightly together. Unable to balance, the Night Fury fell to the ground with a bang and a small cloud of dirt.

Hiccup wiggled his legs, but they were completely trapped – he could barely move them in any which way. "What is wrong with you!" he screamed at the two people and squirmed like a trapped animal. "Let me go!"

Instead of listening, Spitelout was talking to his son. "If you tie the rope right you should just have to yank hard on this to tighten the noose so the beast can't get away."

With one cocked eyebrow and a contemplative look, Snotlout asked his father, "Can't they just break the rope? It's not that strong."

"If you hogtie 'em quick, then they don't have the leverage needed to break free. And their claws are kept safely out of range so they can't cut it either. Naturally, this doesn't apply to the largest of beasts, but this target is easily small enough. Of course, you should still wrap the rope around a few more times to be sure they can't escape. But, before that we need to deal with the head."

Hiccup ignored their conversation and instead focused on breaking out of his bondage. But no matter what way he wiggled or how hard he pushed the rope remained firm.

In Spitelout's hands was a similar coil of rope to before, but was noticeable smaller. He was pointing out various aspects and differences to his son. "A similar noose to what we used for the legs, but this one has a small piece of metal to prevent it from over tightening. After all, if we wanted to kill the beast, we wouldn't go through all this trouble." Spitelout chuckled to himself.

"You throw. Aim for the neck." Spitelout told his son and looked up. Seeing the struggling Night Fury, the old Viking sighed and called out, "Hiccup, can't you squirm better than that? At least make it a challenge."

Hiccup paused and with as much sarcasm as he could muster, responded, "I'm _SORRY_ I'm not playing the ideal victim!"

Without needed a second try, Snotlout found his target and Hiccup felt the loop of rope fall slack around his throat like a ugly necklace.

"Good throw!" Spitelout cheered. "Now, pull."

The rope around Hiccup's neck tightened until it was taut. "Ow, too tight; too tight!" Hiccup fearfully called out as he instinctively tired to raise a claw to remove the noose from his neck. Sadly, they were stuck in their own predicament.

"He's fine," Spitelout said with a tinge of annoyance. "Tie it off. Now it can't move its head, but we're still not done. Okay, we going to use another of those catching ropes but this time, we are going to run it around the beast's muzzle. And then, loop it over its ears and behind its head and feed it through the lead. Now tighten. There! The halter should prevent the dragon from biting or breathing fire. Or, in this case, speaking."

Spitelout released the noose around his neck and stood up with an egotistical smirk.

A furious series of mumbles came from Hiccups mouth that sounded somewhat like, "I hate you two."

"Sorry, what was that?" Snotlout asked innocently with a cutesy sneer.

The mumbling coming from Hiccups mouth exploded as the dragon fought hard against the rope around his snout. But, it held and the dragon eventually gave up with a defeated blast of air coming out of his nostrils.

Spitelout, in mockery of affection, lightly tapped the back leg of the dragon. "And that's how you wrangle a dragon. Ready for transport to the butcher."

Hiccup screamed as coherently as possible, but it came out as a jumbled blur. Rapidly squirming, Hiccup tried to free himself but was unable to even loosen the ropes. After a few seconds, the dragon calmed and allowed himself a rational thought. They weren't going to actually cut him up into little pieces. Right?

Hiccup turned his gaze to the two Vikings. Spitelout had his hand on Snotlout's shoulder and was watching his son with an expression that Hiccup couldn't put his claw on. It wasn't affection, but it was about as far from hate as winter was from summer.

"That was easy," Snotlout said with a smile and puffed up shoulders.

Spitelout replied, "We don't need to keep dragons alive often, but this is still a useful skill to know."

"Why don't we just knock 'em out instead of all this?"

"Son." Spitelout grabbed his son by the shoulders and forced him to look him straight in the eye.

"Yeah?"

Spitelout's voice was forceful and powerful. "Don't ever try to knock a dragon out – it just does not work. And you would not like the results. If you absolutely have to, you can choke them until they pass out, but never try to knock them out with physical blows."

"Why?"

Spitelout opened his mouth, but no words came out. He licked his lips and looked at the younger Viking for a long time. Eventually, he simply moved past him and approached Hiccup.

Blinking dumbly, Snotlout threw a questioning glare at his father, before joining him next to the bound dragon.

"Do we untie him now?" Snotlout asked.

"Nope, it will be much easier to move him like this." Spitelout said and picked up Hiccup's tail to test the weight. With a satisfied grunt, the adult Viking dropped the Night Fury's black, scaly tail and it hit the ground with a light thump.

A series of muffled noises came from the dragon's snout as he tried to voice a question.

Remarkably, Spitelout recognized enough of the speech to reply, "Nope, the muzzle stays on; I really don't want to deal with your questions or complaining."

At least, Hiccup found out, he could hiss at the two of them.

* * *

Hiccup found himself deposited onto a wooden floor. The ropes cut into, what felt like, every orifice of his body. The dragon moaned.

There was not a doubt in Hiccups mind as to his current location: for whatever reason, Spitelout had snuck him back into Berk. As he was lying on the floor trussed up like a bird, Hiccup's eyes shot around and confirmed his hypothesis. Other than the visual queues, the smell in the air – revolting in a way that only Spitelout and his son could produce – were memorable to the extreme. He was currently residing in their humble adobe.

Spitelout, brandishing a knife and looking far too reminiscent of a serial killer, leaned over the fidgeting dragon and began to cut the ropes.

They fell down and collected like the coils of a snake on the ground. Now free, Hiccup rapidly shook his head back and forth to try to clear the ghosting on his face. Even though he knew they weren't there, Hiccup swore he could still feel the ropes all over his body. He shivered and threw a glare of malice at the Viking standing near him.

"How do you feel?" Spitelout asked.

Hiccup looked at him for a long minute. When he spoke, his voice was tired and short, "My wings are killing me, my legs feel like they are going to fall off, and I can't feel my tail. Not to mention, I got turned into a dragon, kicked out of the village and then kidnapped by you. How do you think I'm doing?"

The Viking had the audacity to laugh.

Throwing a glare at Spitelout, Hiccup asked with dripping sarcasm, "Next time, can you not include me in family bonding time?"

"And deny you the fun?"

"I could do without any more _fun_ today. So, what's this?" A sharp claw waved around crudely. "You brought me back to Berk. Why?"

The smile on Spitelout's face morphed into something far different that Hiccup could only describe as an overly proud smirk. Slightly nervous, the Night Fury rapidly looked around his surroundings for anything that could be used to defend himself if need be. While there were many weapons, none of them would be usable with his claws, and there was nothing to take cover behind. Of course, it's not like he could beat Spitelout in a foot race anyway.

One more look around. Snotlout was nowhere to be seen but unless his new nose were betraying him, Hiccup could smell his rival in the next room. He was easily identifiable as a ball of sweat, testosterone and body odor but the scent of fish, cheese and wheat also drifted into his nose and made it quiver spontaneously.

His stomach complained.

"Let me tell you a story," Spitelout started.

Green eyes followed Spitelout's form as he knelt by the raging fire. Hiccup scooted forward until the soot and smoke masked the smell of nourishment.

"Once upon a time, there was a Viking prodigy. Even as a young adult, his skill with an axe and his resolve in battle was legendary. And as he aged, his fable grew as every challenge in front of him collapsed like the skulls of his victims. Nothing slowed him down; nothing stopped him. Nothing, until he was given the leadership of his village. Supplies dropped, war loomed, and the man watched in shocked horror as his efforts failed. Suffering, disease and hopelessness ran rampant like a raging dragon."

The fire's emanated light danced around Spitelout's body. The resulting highlights would have been mysterious and almost ethereal if Hiccup were still human, but with his astute vision, the illumination merely looked like red and orange paint splattered over the man.

"Today that man is known as one of the greatest chiefs of all time. So, what changed?

Hiccup blinked. Spitelout looked over his shoulder with an emotionless expression. The Night Fury watched the reflected flames dance on his orbs, but didn't say a word.

Spitelout faced the fire and continued, "He realized he didn't want to lead. You see: some people want to lead for glory or power, and some want to lead to prove a point. Others lead because they know they can do it best. And because of that, they feel obligated to do so, to sacrifice everything."

Picking up a short metal rod with a vicious looking hook on the end, Spitelout used the poker to shift and move the wood in the fire around. It crackled and burned, the snaps reverberating through the old house. A particularly loud and unexpected one caused the dragon to wince slightly.

The lecture continued, "Yet, there is only so much sacrifice one can give before they shatter utterly. That man lost his wife when they were both still young – she was carried off like a sack of potatoes and never seen again. To most, that would be the breaking point and they would move on, give up."

Spitelout turned and looked at Hiccup. After an uncomfortable minute that involved a lot of squirming dragon, the man spoke, "You are your fathers last straw. He has given everything to this village. With the dragon raids and increasing pressure from our neighbors we need him more than ever, but if he loses you, we lose him."

Hiccup wiggled in place. "Well, if you didn't notice, I got turned into a dragon and banished so it's not looking too hot," he said, the sound coming out purposely harsher than he felt.

"Do not be sharp with me." Spitelout snapped and stood up. The man lorded over the dragon. "Your banishment was planned."

Even the fire seemed to quiet down as the room plunged into a deadly silence. Hiccup could hear Snotlout munching on something in the other room, but paid it no mind as a freezing cold sensation ran over his body like he was slowly submerged in a frozen lake.

"What?" Hiccup asked in a high-pitched voice that sounded a bit like a chirp.

"There were three options that could happen: one, you stay in the village; two, you get banished; three, you get executed. The first one had minimal chances so the entire goal was to avoid getting you killed."

Hiccup's eyes narrowed, his wings twitched and his claws dug into the wood beneath him. "So you wanted this to happen?" he asked.

"Of course not, you stupid child, but it's best we could do. Or did you really think Stoick would doom you to the wilds? Do you really have so little trust in your father?"

A bark erupted out of the dragon's snout that sounded too much like a dog for Hiccups liking. "Doom me to the wilds." Hiccup screeched, "I _AM_ doomed – the village will have my head if I'm discovered anyway near here."

A chubby finger pointed at the dragon and wavered slightly. Its owner grinned.

"_IF_ you are discovered," Spitelout said.

It felt like the floor vanished from under Hiccups pointy claws and he was hanging in limbo – everything clicked and Hiccup couldn't stifle a little groan from escaping his mouth.

"You're crazy," Hiccup whispered.

Spitelout beamed and puffed out his chest, the spines on his shoulders making him look like an overconfident porcupine.

"We're not supposed to fraternize with potential enemies," the man said, "but if you are here to begin with, we can hide you and no one will be the wiser. And then, once the village has gotten more used to the idea of your transformation, and you've gained competence, we can get you back into their good graces. Potentially."

Harsh tapping arose in the cabin as Hiccup drummed his claws on the wood. "If this was all planned by you and Dad, how come he ignored me the entire time?"

Green eyes rolled and Hiccup couldn't help but notice how similar Spitelout's eye color was to that of the dragon he saw earlier.

In a peeved drawl, Spitelout said, "Hiccup, when have we ever gotten along? I think you are a weak, useless child that wastes both our time and our resources. An argument coming from me is so much more powerful than one coming from your father. By remaining calm and unemotional, he looked the part of chief and everyone viewed him as doing the right thing for Berk."

Hiccup's eyes narrowed. "Yup, you're insane," he hissed, spittle flying from his mouth and darkening the light, dry wood in front of him.

"I'll take that as a complement." Spitelout sneered.

The room dipped into quiet one again. But instead of managing the fire, Spitelout kept his gaze focused on the Night Fury with an intensity that made Hiccups frustration morph into calculating nervousness with a side dish of annoyance.

Suddenly, the dragon flung his two front legs into the air. After hanging in the air for a second, they came down on the wood with a loud crack. "This doesn't make any sense. Why not keep me in the forest and supply me with food? Why hide me here?" the dragon asked.

"I thought you were intelligent," Spitelout growled. "Use your brain, you impudent child! If we were seen leaving the village repetitively, people would get curious. By going home and acting normal, no one will have a clue."

While he spoke, the man's eyebrows quivered and his fingers tapped his side feverously.

Green, dragon eyes watched the thumping fingers with curious intent.

"That's not the only reason is it," he inquired, meeting Spitelout's gaze.

Neither intimidated nor fazed, the Viking replied with a cheeky smile, "No, it's not."

Hiccup waited a minute. No additional response came. "You're not going to tell me, are you?"

Spitelout made a tsking noise with his tongue and lightly shook his head. "Maybe you are smarter than you look," he mockingly remarked.

Loud rummaging came from the other room, followed by a loud bang and a muttered curse. An angry shout, from Spitelout, accompanied the disturbance.

A house-shattering rumble arose from Hiccup's stomach and made the dragon grimace in embarrassment. He threw a nervous chuckle at Spitelout. Admitting to the man that he need help to even feed himself – that he was as helpless as the Viking always claimed – was as repulsive as the fish earlier, so he quickly tried to change the topic.

"Ormr did bring up a good point though." Trying to act uninterested, Hiccup examined one of his claws. "What if I snap and become a monster?" Some of the trepidation swimming around his stomach leaked out in his words.

Spitelout snorted.

"I really doubt you could be any worse. Five minutes with you gives me a migraine that lasts five days." To animate his point, fingers heavily massaged his forehead.

Hiccup ignored his action and asked, "Aren't you even slightly worried?"

"No."

"Why not?"

Shoulders rose and fell like a rock tossed into the air. "If that happens, I will personally kill you," the man said full of apathy. "In the meantime, I will, as painful as it is for me to admit, treat you as the family you are."

Hiccup's wings drooped down and he looked at the floor beneath him. He could deal with being a dragon, if he absolutely had to, but the idea of losing his mind filled him with so much dread that Hiccup briefly wondered if it would be better to take his own life and avoid the situation, but he quickly refuted that. Death was the coward's way out.

The creaking of wood caused Hiccup's floppy ears to perk up.

Spitelout's form quickly disappeared through a door. The man, out of visual range, called out, "Oh, there is one more snag in the plan."

He reentered the room with an elaborate battle-axe in hand. The sight caused Hiccup's eyes to widen, his heart to skip a beat, his wings to tighten up, and his mind to race harder than a horse. But Spitelout didn't so much as look at the black dragon as he moved over to his collection of whetstones.

As he toiled, the rhythmic sound of rock grinding on iron floated through the house.

Spitelout elaborated on his previous comment, "After the recent raid, Stoick and I decided to go on a hunt for the dragon's nest. Obviously, to avoid suspicion, we can't cancel now."

Large green eyes widened to a comical size.

"No, no, no. That's never going to work."

Spitelout smiled down at the terrified Night Fury and said, "My son is going to watch you while the two of us are out at sea."

A gasp and a choke rose from a nearby room. The scampering of feet and an admonished, plump-faced Viking, complete with meat hanging off his chin, quickly followed.

"What!" Snotlout shouted. "I never agreed to this!"

One terrible, authoritative glare appeared on Spitelout and he snarled, a bit like a wolf at his son. "It's not up for debate."

"You want Hiccup to learn dragony things like breathing fire in our wooden house," Snotlout put large emphasis on the word, _wooden_, "while I keep him secret from everyone for weeks until you get back."

Hiccup covered his head with his front two paws and whined. "I'm completely screwed."

It appeared that Snotlout was going to continue, but his father's deadly serious stare froze him in place with his mouth hanging open.

Spitelout then grabbed his son and held him in a tight embrace. In Snotlout's ear, too quiet to be heard should Hiccup not have superior Night Fury hearing, the older Viking whispered, "Real Vikings rise to the challenge, my son. Are you ready to grow up? Or will you condemn your cousin to death? Because as he is now, he cannot survive alone."

Chubby, muscular hands pushed their father away.

Lips quivered as Snotlout chewed on them lightly. He then looked up at his father, met his gaze, and gaze a small nod. And then, to top it all off, he threw Hiccup a glare of pure irritation.

"If Hiccup is discovered, it's not just his head that will roll. I know you can do this." Spitelout said, in a voice that was calmer and more caring than anything Hiccup had ever heard the man utter before. "But, if he loses his human mind – do what you have to."

"How will I know if he changes?" Snotlout asked with a light tremble.

"It will be incredibly obvious – you will know." Spitelout gave a slow, calming breath. "Stoick is counting on you to protect his son. Don't let him, or me, down."

"I won't," the young Viking said quietly.

"Wait, what about Gobber," Hiccup said both suddenly and pleadingly. "He rarely goes on trips with you guys anymore, surely he can watch me."

Spitelout rubbed his nose and muttered furiously under his breath. "No, he can't because, first off, Gobber has no idea of this plan and second off, its going to remain that way since the man cannot keep a secret to save his, or in this case, your life."

"Gobber would never-" Hiccup started only to be interrupted by a furious Spitelout.

"Of course he wouldn't intentionally, you ignorant brat! He gets drunk almost every night in the Mead Hall and boasts about his feats for all to hear. What do you think would happen? He would betray you and not even realize it the day after."

"Looks like your stuck with me," Snotlout said with confidence, yet his shifty eyes and white-faced complexion betrayed him.

Hiccup watched his pale cousin with apprehension. Snotlout was neither the smartest nor the cleverest of Vikings and, to top it off, didn't get along with him at all. And that's not even mentioning his clumsy, careless attitude. The two of them would be lucky to make it a week without being detected or trying to eviscerate one another.

And the worst part of it all? If they were discovered, Snotlout would be branded a traitor. The two rivals now shared their doomed fate.

Family bonding indeed.

* * *

**Author Notes: **This chapter was hard as all hell to write. Trying to keep Spitelout in character was ridiculously difficult. Hopefully, I manage to do so and make this believable.

Originally, the wrangling scene was much shorter but I decided to increase the length to try and give some interaction between Snotlout and his father. I wanted to make their relationship more transparent.

**Important:** Chapters one through three were edited: the first had a dream scene added and hopefully reads smoother yet no less mysterious, the second was cleaned up and I modified some of Snotlout's dialogue, the third was just edited for errors. I recommend, if you have the time, to read them over. I would love some comments on whether you think they are improved or worse than their original versions.


	6. Something Wicked This Way Comes

**Paradigm Shift**

Intermission I: Something Wicked This Way Comes

* * *

Cold.

It was frigid.

Not in a physical sense, the air didn't feel like shards of minuscule ice scratching and tearing at one's throat as it was inhaled, but the ambience did freeze the very soul like some dreadful apparition was squeezing and choking it with disturbing enthusiasm.

The fire in the middle of the majestic, wooden hall crackled and sputtered in protest at the suffocating setting, but even its oranges and reds seemed muted by a haze of blue and white. Still, the flames shifted, danced, and looked every which way like a corned animal trying to escape their inevitable doom. Little did the inferno know, fleeing was an absolute impossibility.

No one ever escaped from him.

And there he was, up on his makeshift throne of darkened wood. To him, it didn't matter that the wood was splintering, harsh and unpolished – the fact that it was uncomfortable and as aesthetically appealing as a slug was the point. The focus should never be on the throne; rather, it should be on what's important – the fact that it holds him.

Besides, comfort was for the weak.

A stifling voice droned on through the air – not cutting but melting in as another boring, worthless component.

Red flames flickered.

"…as you see, everything is going just as expected. After the disagreement, we made sure to…."

Speaking was a man who, while not short in stature, was dwarfed by the company he kept. His blue eyes and brown, short hair were nothing special, nor were the outlandish clothes he wore: a green tunic smeared with brown splotches of dirt; tan, loose hose that was torn periodically throughout; and old, worn, leather boots that could have, at one time, been the home of vermin with their gaping holes.

To the casual observer, he was poor, tattered and down on his last legs.

But if you looked further: the sash was too elegant, the hose's cuts too systematic, the dirt wasn't entrenched into the fabric and instead rested as if it were just on the surface. Most betraying of all was the way the man held himself. His back was straight, chest puffed out, head held high – this was a man groomed to lead, nobility in all but name.

"…be no more. Now they understand that your caring protection is the only thing that can keep them safe."

Atop his throne, Drago smiled. Not as a joyous, harmonious symbol, but one that froze blood and stopped hearts – a sickening superior, hopeless curse of a smirk.

"And care I do," the dragon god said without a hint of sarcasm. "Continue."

With a careless shrug of his shoulders, the smaller man said, "That was it really."

So much useless prattle resulting in so much wasted time. Everything mentioned was already known to Drago. Of course, people who wronged him were sorry. They always were.

Or they were already dead.

Seeing Drago's twitching eyebrows and frothing frown, the man quickly added, "Well, there was a report of a Night Fury attacking Berk, but I figured one dragon would be beneath you."

For the first time all night, a twinge of curiosity injected itself into Drago's harsh, craggy voice, "A Night Fury?"

He had heard about them before – but only that. They were the enigmas of the dragon world.

The man let out a breath of relief. "Yeah. Not a lot is known about them: fast and powerful. Probably would be the most-feared dragons around, but they're too rare. The one around Berk is the first mention in decades."

"The offspring of lightning and death," Drago muttered in a crass whisper but even he was unable to keep the slight awe out of his tone.

Drago narrowed his eyes and said in a stern, commanding voice, "I want to know more about this creature."

"Are you sure, My Lord?"

That was the one annoying thing about the man in front of him. It was too painfully obvious that he was not a Viking. Besides, his tasteless affinity for clothing, his speech and mannerisms were that of a mainlander. But that was fine with Drago as the man was skilled in the plethora of things he didn't want to do like managing the logistics of his army.

Not to mention, there was something incredibly appealing about being called, _My Lord_. It was a feeling, a tingle in his chest, that he wouldn't mind getting intimately familiar with.

"I thought you wanted to remain low-key," the mainlander asked with a slight frown.

Chubby fingers started to play with a small, elongated dragon fang. It was a dirty ivory color and chipped throughout as if someone had brought a chisel to it

"Such a noble dragon," Drago said to no one in particular. Instead, it came out as a trance – whispery and mesmerizing. "I would love to educate it on the way of the world. My lessons would sink in, deep and permanent."

With a half-hearted chuckle, the mainlander asked, "Shall I ready the fleet?"

In a burst of fury, like unconstrained dragon fire, Drago snapped at the foolish man in a voice that didn't sound similar to the roar of a bear or a dragon, but instead, sounded like an angry, displeased deity – full of power and deep-pitched thunder yet reined in from its true terrifying potential.

"Not the army you incompetent idiot! Berk isn't worth the time nor the effort – they're probably still scrambling from when I burned down that hall years ago."

Drago's rage morphed into a cross between a sigh and a growl. When he spoke again, a few moments later, it was no longer earth-shatteringly loud but the tone was even deeper and despite its new reticence, twice as dangerous.

"They should have listened to me. Bad things come to those who tread lightly, mockingly. Still, Berk represents an opportunity and I won't lose that by striking too soon; first, the iron needs to be red-hot."

The smaller man fingered the neckline of his tunic nervously as beads of sweat trailed from his forehead down his neck and underneath his heavy wool clothes.

"Opportunity?" he tentatively asked.

Two eyes that saw more than the just the corporeal aspects lorded over the mainlander causing, for the first time during the meeting, him to squirm like a fish out of water.

"Strength bleeds in the strangest of circumstances," Drago said calmly.

And with that statement, Drago went quiet. The only audible sound the cracking and snapping of logs, but try as it might, the fire was unable to adequately use them to hide from the dragon god.

After only a few minutes, the mainlander spoke yet again. This time, his voice had lost its commanding, confident edge and was more comparable to a frightened, confused child. Still, he tried, and succeeded, to prevent a stutter from escaping his mouth, "I'll put out a bounty on the Night Fury – what do you want to offer for the beast?"

Drago, whose eyes had not shifted from the mainlander's own, smirked and instantly asked, "For the creature caught alive?"

A quick jittery nod was his answer.

"A king's ransom." Drago shrugged and nonchalantly said, "It's not like they will ever see a single coin of the reward; they will be far too busy making the trip to Valhalla."

The smaller man audible gulped and attempted to smile.

Drago waved him off and lazily said, "Leave me."

It seemed there was little else that the dragon god could have said that would have been more appreciated by the mainlander. He gave a quick bow, turned on his heels – a strange squeaking sound coming from the heel of his boots on the wooden floor, and marched, with perhaps just a bit too much vigor, to the exit of the room.

Naturally, right when the mainlander rested his hand on the door, its rough, irritating wood tickling the calluses on his hand, Drago spoke once again.

"Wait. Where did you get this information?"

Without so much as turning around, the mainlander twisted his head, glanced over his shoulder and said, "A seafaring merchant brought it up – claimed she was there when the Night Fury attacked a few weeks ago. Said the creature's pitch was a harrowing, hair-raising screech that could shatter glass. Then she claimed-"

"What a shame," interrupted Drago.

This time, the mainlander fully turned around and faced the large, one-armed Viking. "Excuse me?"

"Kill her."

After all, while, at the moment, it didn't seem important if anyone else hear about a Night Fury attacking Berk, Drago had learned it was better to solve problems before they came to be. This way he was guaranteeing that someone would not interfere with his plans and besides it's not like anyone was going to miss some stupid, trivial merchant girl.

The mainlander hesitated and his eyes shifted around the room nervously. "My Lord?" he asked in a sputter.

Drago rolled his eyes. The man's chivalry was becoming a stupidly annoying and almost asinine quality – he tortured, stole and had no qualms killing ninety percent of the time. One guess as to when he did have a problem.

"Did I stutter? Or do you want to take her place?"

The man opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. After momentarily looking like an imbecile, the gaping cavern closed shut like a clam.

"What are you still doing here?" Drago growled.

Still, the man didn't move: he was frozen like a fool in winter.

"Get out of my presence, you dimwitted moron!"

Just like the coward he truly was, and all mainlanders really were, the man fled the room without so much as a glance. But even in his haste, the smaller man was polite enough to not slam the door and it closed shut with a light thump.

Drago Bludvist smiled. Everything was coming together and soon people would realize that there was no hiding from him. No army would be able to resist or stop him and they would all bow under his feet. The Night Fury was just a delicacy – something he could splurge on while he accomplished his real goals.

At this point, there was only one thing that could stop him.

Drago glanced at the plaque resting near his chair. It contained an engraved picture of pure brutality: the slaughter of dragons by dragons as if the beasts had lost their minds utterly and cared only for ripping each other into as many pieces as possible.

The fire sputtered and died. Drago paid it no mind and sat in the absolute darkness like a hibernating bear – the rise and fall of his chest the only evidence that he was an organic creature and not a lifeless statue.

He just needed to figure out where _they_ came from and how to stop _them_. Were all dragons at risk or only some? Was an alpha really the key? Or was there more to it?

Drago had never been the sharpest axe around, but he would be damned if he didn't figure out this puzzle.

It was the only thing standing between him and his destiny.

* * *

**Author Notes:** Sorry for the slow updates – been having way too much fun in the sun lately. Thankfully, I managed to get out this intermission chapter for all of you to chew on. Yes its short - but it told what I wanted you to know and no more. Giving away too much too early would be no fun right? Better to let you stew and cook a bit first.

I want to note that in the second movie, it is said that Drago burned down the hall in Berk and Stoick was the only survivor. I am guessing such an event happened while Hiccup was still very young, as he otherwise would have remembered. Drago then disappeared to build his dragon army, which he is still working on.

For those of you that want more Toothless, patient – he has a very prominent and pivotal role in this story, but it will take its time getting there. This is not a sprint but a marathon.


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